RP:Josleen of Xalious: The Furious Thane

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Thronnel abducts Josleen, and pisses her off.

West Arril Street

Josleen leaves Skylei’s home on West Arril street, in Cenril’s southern ghetto, dressed to fool would-be spies and lackeys. Instead of her usual floral dress she dons a man’s plaid flannel shirt tucked into high-waisted brown leather pants. Ugly brown boots that Josleen under normal would not touch in a shop now protect her feet from the encroaching winter. Gray slushy puddles fill every pothole, and potholes fill every slab of sidewalk. A red, curly wig hides her golden brown locks from sight and thick framed, lensless chunky glasses change the shape of her face. A white poodle trots along beside Josleen, sniffing every puddle, mystery animal dropping, and newspaper bed for the homeless; beds that are now abandoned as their occupants like Josleen, start their day.

Thronnel had planned for this moment for a long time. He had his plan, his backup plan, and the backup plan for the backup plan. He knew where Skylei lived, roughly, but had needed to scry to find the exact apartment. He went up to the second floor, dressed in a golden wool coat over his normal attire. He was approaching the door when he saw it open. He stepped up to a window, as if observing the street below. That wasn't Skylei, or Kelovath. Process of elimination said it was Josleen/Skylei's "sister." Thronnel considered his position. Kelovath could be in that apartment, alone... Or not. Meanwhile, Jos was right there. He decided it was time for Plan D. He waited until she had started down the steps before following her at a distance. That dog was either going to be a liability... or the key to getting to her. He just needed the right lure…

The Fish Market

Josleen‘s routine these days lacks substance. When The Steel Collective or a war official in Frostmaw has something to report, that’s a good day. All other days are waiting days. Her life is on pause, but the world is not. Commerce, politics, friends and family blissfully move forward spinning their productive cogs in the machine called civilization. Did the ancient people, before the gods gave them law and the arts, argue about who is a witch and who deserves a throne? But she isn’t an ancient person, and her cog is stuck, and all Josleen can do to keep from going mad in a tiny loft meant for one but housing three is pretend. She pretends to have purpose on the waiting days. She gives herself tasks. Today, she will cook. That’s it, one mundane and pointless task to fill up an entire day of waiting. It starts with a visit to the market. Gigi cannot contain her excitement. Everything must be sniffed, licked, mouthed, pawed. Everything. The dog is oblivious to the predicament of its family.

Thronnel hadn't necessarily planned on a dog being in the mix, but he was nothing if not a fast thinker. A quick exchange of coin and he had a bit of meat in hand. Within moments, it was sizzling. The power of a simple fire spell. A small hunk was broken off and dropped near the dog as he passed by, heading for an alleyway. Another hunk dropped by the entrance, and deeper in he went. There, he would wait for the dog, and hopefully, Josleen.

Josleen gropes tomatoes for bruises as Gigi finds the best scavenger hunt ever: meat. The dog happily falls for Thronnel’s ploy. Josleen, distracted by fruits and vegetables, doesn’t notice the dog has wandered off until his puffy white tail disappears into a shadowy alley. “Gigi!” she shouts. The dog whines, knowing any moment now it will be yanked away from steak, and so, instead of obeying, trots faster into the alley to scoop up any remaining meat before Josleen comes to fetch him. “One second,” Josleen says to the vendor, leaving the tomatoes before crossing over to the alley to retrieve the poodle. “Gigiiii!” she calls. Nothing. In broad daylight, the bard feels irrationally secure. She wouldn’t be caught dead in an alley at night, but sunlight has a way of rendering harmless the very sames things which at night appear like death itself. She walks into the alley, assuming Gigi must be hidden behind trash cans. “Gigi, I’m leaving you at home next time.” An empty threat, like all her Gigi-threats, and thus the reason why this dog is such a scamp.

Thronnel knelt down to give Gigi the remaining meat. He pet the dog's head and let him lick his fingers. Such a good dog. They were indeed hidden behind trash cans. Thronnel kept petting Gigi, silently waiting for Josleen to come further into the alley. He scooped up a bit of dirt and whispered an incantation, imbuing the dirt with a sleeping spell. A faceful of this would knock a half-elf out for a couple hours.

Josleen, with her faith in the bad-guy-shooing powers of the sun, was not expecting an assailant. Thronnel benefits from the element of surprise, and initiative. She yelps as soon as she sees him, jumping backwards and knocking over a trash can with a clatter. Just as she’s about to shout for ‘help’ the sleeping spell morphs the ‘h’ into a yawn and her knees go wobbly. Gigi, who was not in the direct line of the dirt, barks aggressively at Thronnel, snarling and, once Josleen’s body slumps onto the floor, lunges at Thronnel to bite him. In the market, a few shopkeeps and customers hear the commotion and begin to murmur theories amongst themselves. One woman leaves briskly to fetch the Cenrili Guard. She points at the alley and soon two guards close in on Thronnel, the attacking Gigi who grows sleepier by the second, and the passed out Josleen with wig akimbo.

Thronnel cursed under his breath. Too eager, should've waited a bit longer. He brought his arm up to catch Gigi's tiny jaws, and looked up at the guards. "Hello, gentlemen," he said smoothly. Gigi soon slid off his arm and into a heap on the ground. Thronnel stood up straight and adjusted his coat, taking a fancy-looking badge from the pocket within. "Sorry for the ruckus. Apprehending fugitives is messy work sometimes, I'm afraid." Thronnel hoped the badge would persuade the guards as it had persuaded Kyl'oriel, but if it doesn't, well, he has gold for that.

Josleen is out cold, but her strange disguise certainly helps Thronnel. Fugitive indeed. One guard inspects the badge while the other keeps his eyes on Thronnel. The one inspecting the badge asks, “Fugitives, you say? From Larket?” He hands the badge back to Thronnel. “What did this one do?” He jerks a thumb towards Josleen. Aside from the disguise, she looks harmless. The benefit of a sweet face and soft hands, no one thinks you could hurt a fly.

Thronnel took the badge back and placed it back in his pocket. "Aiding and abetting a mass murderer. You've heard of the fermin epidemic? Her lover is behind it all. She's wanted for questioning." And bait, though he didn't mention that. "You may wish to take the dog to the pound, find it a good home." The talkative guard has never heard of the fermin plague, but he’d lick Olric’s bollocks before admitting that outloud. “Sure,” he says, nodding for emphasis. He glances at the dog and sees a sticker price. Looks purebred, and if the guard take it in as evidence, then later sell it, they could buy the new equipment for the Cenrili Guard basketball team. “Well, on your way then. We’ll write up a report on our end, and handle the dog. Good luck with the investigation.” They nod at Thronnel and let him clear the alley with his prisoner. They pick up Gigi and haul it off to the station.

Fancier Room for Rent, Beloy Inn

A few hours later, Josleen would awaken someplace far nicer than an alleyway. She was on a lush, comfortable bed, but parts of her would be numb. Thronnel had taken precautions. A spell to bind her legs, a potion to dull her voice. There would be no running and no screaming from this half-elf. Thronnel waited patiently, a book in hand, only occasionally glancing up at his prisoner. Once awake, he put down the book and stood. "I wish we could have met under better circumstances, Miss Josleen."

Josleen wakes slowly. The spell addled her mind, and the deepness of her sleep took her far away. But when the room comes into focus, and Thronnel’s unfamiliar voice reaches her, she sits up with a start, heart leaping and eyes wide with panic. Legs try to pry apart to run, but won’t respond. “Help!” she tries to scream, but her voice won’t lift above a conversational murmur. The decor of the room quickly informs her of where she is. The hotel on Beloy street in Cenril. She has been here before, even if not in this specific room but all the rooms are essentially the same. She looks to Thronnel, sees nothing promising there, and rolls onto her side and rams against the bedside table to knock it over so that it thuds loudly against the floor and may alert the concierge. Then she opens the bedside drawer and pulls out a heavy ashtray. If she isn’t stopped in time, she’ll throw it at the window to break it.

Thronnel strode over to Josleen, his hand closing around her wrist. "Enough of that," he said. He then spoke an incantation in Elvish, translating roughly to "I take your strength," and her arms would go limp. Throwing her back against the bed, he said, "I would rather not deliver a corpse to your family, but if I must, I must."

Josleen‘s arms thrash until they can’t anymore, and in place of her strength, a hatred begins to germinate. To be bound and gagged, magically and limitedly or not, makes her feel powerless, and to get it back she’ll overreact, as soon as the opportunity presents itself. The opportunity is not now, and she calms herself in order to buy herself time and opportunity later. “Who are you?” Then she notices it: the absence of a familiar whine. “Where’s Gigi?”

Thronnel was not about to give his name. If she somehow got away, that could only spell trouble. "The dog? In good hands. I imagine he will make his new owner very happy. But that is hardly your concern right now. Right now, your concern is Larket and its people." Thronnel sat back down in his chair and leaned forward, hands clasped. "You love Larket, do you not? And yet you would let it be decimated by the City of War. That does not reflect well on you, Thane." The title was said with a sneer of contempt.

Josleen purses her lips together when Thronnel says Gigi has been given away. She’ll deal with that later. His argument doesn’t even begin to sway her. She knows what she knows and runs down her side for him to convince him that he will not be successful in convincing her. “Macon is not the rightful king. He usurped power through mass murder, and Kelovath and I will prove it. We have a witness and physical evidence. Macon imprisoned Kelovath on false charges, then held Hureig prisoner. He provoked Frostmaw, and he is responsible for the war. Not to mention he started rumors about both myself and Kelovath. And now he sends you to abduct me, like this. I can’t even move, everything is force and aggression. And yet you believe him?” She clicks her tongue in disbelief. “We’ll see how long you can hold me here before Queen Hildegarde realizes I am missing. You’re a fool working for a madman and too dumb to see it.”

Thronnel snorted. "So you admit, your loyalty is to Frostmaw over Larket? You certainly seem to care little for the people who will suffer and die in this conflict. I wonder if Larket will welcome you back if Macon falls, knowing you could have stopped the war and didn't." Thronnel spread his hands. "Should Macon fall to your Queen, how long would it take for a rebellion to mount? The people will see a tyrant murdering their savior and rightful ruler, not a liberating force. They will not be happy with being ruled from afar by a woman who cares little for them. And how long will you last, Thane Josleen, the woman who betrayed the city and made it all possible? No, I don't think you will be able to return to Larket in either case. As for your witness and your evidence... I wonder, is it enough? Witnesses can be bought, threatened, silenced... Evidence can be forged. If the people believed you, you would not be here. No, you need Hildegarde to conquer. And I've already laid out how that will only go poorly for you."

Josleen feels no guilt, as she knows at the Frostmaw War Council her voice was among those who argued for the preservation of life, for not attacking first, for letting the war be a cold one for as long as possible, but she doesn’t share this with Thronnel. “I am Thane to Frostmaw, yes. I don’t find your concern for life genuine given who you are backing and the threat you made upon my own life moments ago. Go tell Macon that if he seeks to have the Thane of Frostmaw turn on Frostmaw, he’s more mad than I first imagined.”

Thronnel sighed. "I don't intend for you to turn on Frostmaw. Only to convince them to back down. But, if you refuse to cooperate, I suppose it can't be helped." Thronnel got to his feet and headed for the desk. "I suppose I have my own letter to write, so you may tell Macon to his face how mad you find him."

Josleen glares at Thronnel as he rises. “With pleasure. And know that when I get out of here, and I will, you will come to rue the day you opposed me.”

Thronnel smirked. "I tremble in the face of your might."