RP:Like We're All Being Herded

Part of the Hour of Wolves Arc

Summary: Lionel catches up with Krice, his on-and-off-again ally in a growing number of conflicts over the past several months. Their reminiscence is not fond; Lionel admits to his friend, not for the first time, that he believes a great shroud of darkness is blanketing the realm, although to what end he cannot say. The men approach a fellow who has been infected with the red dirt addiction which has been sweeping across Frostmaw, but no answers are gained. Only sorrow.

Frostmaw: City Streets

Krice moved through Frostmaw dressed in his usual garb, complete with a katana strapped to his chest over the additional fabric of some loose robes. Compared to other travelers through the icy city, the warrior didn't seem -nearly- as covered to survive the extreme conditions, yet there were no signs in his body language and movements that would tell of resultant discomfort. He turned northward, not to approach the tavern but rather to clear the natural barriers of the city until he could pivot westward where the fort - or solitude - awaited his arrival.

Lionel doesn’t seem well-dressed for the icy occasion, either, which makes the two of them stick out like even sorer thumbs. At least Frostmaw’s citizenry has finally grown accustomed to seeing their military’s Knight-Commander waltz through the streets dressed in thin black silks, though; barely a man or woman turns heads. Then again, maybe that’s because several of these people seem to be red-eyed and dreary, twitching involuntarily and scratching at themselves as if their skin has fleas somehow. It’s an ugly thing here in Frostmaw tonight, and as Lionel steps out of the shadows, he’s one of the only people out here who seem to have a head on their shoulders. “Krice,” he calls out, nodding. It’s clear in his expression he’s troubled, but it shouldn’t be hard for the intelligent warrior to deduce this sad state of affairs is the cause.

Krice was barely in a state to notice the sad state of others around him, let alone people he knew on some level, so he almost entirely missed Lionel on their criss-cross. He bumped shoulders with a staggering civilian whose fingers had made pink scratch-marks along the underside of his chin and neck. The warrior's attention was drawn there and he frowned thoughtfully. He halted, watching the unsteady man wobble his way further eastward - before a familiar voice touched the fringes of his awareness and he glanced around. The enigma saw a second civilian suffering similarly to the first, before his thoughts enabled him to register Lionel. Looking across at the other male, Krice pivoted to approach the Knight-Commander, bemusement marking his expression. " Hey," he said, before putting voice to a thought: " Seems like a few people are sick with something?"

Lionel grimaces, scanning the area with renewed ‘interest.’ As he bridges a bit more of the gap between them, he takes a moment, lips pursed, before answering. “Yeah.” It’s said quickly, faux-casually, but in that usual ‘Lionel is speaking lightly of grave matters’ style. “It’s hit the poorer districts hard. Around here, well…” He sighs. “...This isn’t even that bad. I’ve got soldiers investigating, but… I think it’s a product called ‘red dirt.’ Some thugs tried to blow up a building with it two weeks ago -- it’s flammable.” He rolls his eyes, stressed. “But when it’s not being used like a match, it’s being sold at a premium to get folks high and ruin their lives.” He pauses, then whispers. “Krice, something’s going on here. I’ve never lost control before, but if this keeps up…” He doesn’t complete the sentence.

Krice slowed to a halt once Lionel began progressing toward him, leaving the Knight-Commander to close the remaining distance between the two warriors. He glanced around as well, listening attentively to the other male's answer. It was a short, concise reply that he gave in regard to the revelation that people were getting sick on something called 'red dirt'. " Everyone has a choice whether or not they ingest the stuff." He harboured little sympathy for people paying to destroy themselves. Upon Lionel's mention that he might lose control, the warrior returned his attention to the Knight-Commander, his gaze steady and sharp, and asked, " How do you mean?"

Lionel bites his lip, but he appears to have given fresh consideration to the situation upon Krice’s simple reply. “I suppose they do at that.” Lionel’s empathy has been known to overflow; when he’s in decent form, he tends to place the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s fitting, maybe, but it’s also harmful. This seems to be the first time he’s stepped back and truly considered that the overwhelming majority of the city’s burgeoning drug problem stems from men and women who have chosen this path, for one reason or another. “I mean these drug lords are damned persistent. That building I mentioned? They took hostages and everything. They were determined. Alvina Liadon and I came within seconds of blowing up, right alongside those hostages and three city blocks. Krice… what kind of two-bit smugglers commit to terrorism? None of this feels right.”

Krice released a small sigh, though it harboured no emotion with it to tell of its cause. He looked around again, not for too long before those gilded eyes returned to the counterparts of the Knight-Commander. He rolled a shoulder, his indifference fighting for precedent over compassion. " It bothers the hell out of me that they're using explosives, taking hostages." Disdain leveled itself through his stare, overshadowing the thoughtfulness that otherwise filled his eyes. " Did they make any demands? What exactly are they 'determined' to do?"

Lionel |Something mildly like relief seems to wash over Lionel’s features now. Could he be grateful Krice’s interest has been piqued? Some might label that selfish, but then, Lionel has all but singularly redefined the term ‘busy’ since taking office and good allies are hard to come by. “None. Then again, time was of the essence. I was snapping necks, not asking questions. That red dirt? Stick it to a candle wick and it counts down to armageddon, if you take my meaning. We had too many to disarm -- too quickly. But that group’s leader, a half-elf, was rather proud of the statement they were about to make.” He sighs again, rubbing his neck for a sore spot. “I’m throwing this all at you without so much as a genuine hello. We’ve got questions and no answers right now. That’s the control I mean to say I might lose.”

Krice 's attention drifted from Lionel to watch another person walk by scratching under his left arm around to his shoulder blade. The civilian looked awkward in movement and unhappy. The warrior was still listening to the Knight-Commander, his jaw tensing at the prospect that more explosions - and more drug-affected idiots with a 'don't say no' complex - would arise throughout the city. Reaching out, he sought to stop the itchy stranger, a hand finding the other male's elbow. Lionel had said his piece, given a satisfactory answer, and now it seemed as though the silver-haired enigma wanted to investigate further. " What's wrong with you?" He asked of the suffering civilian, scrutinizing and attentive in his observation.

/observes Krice’s efforts, arms folded over his lithe form. The man stumbles forward one step and then bounces back, as if the enigma’s touch were a blow. “I don’t have it,” is the answer. The stranger, with bloodshot eyes flecked with greyish blue, can only glance between the pair of men. Even the silvery Knight-Commander’s vambrace on Lionel’s forearm doesn’t seem to be a deterrent. Lionel reaches out and takes the man’s hand in his, clasping it. The skin feels clammy, and the man’s shakes worsen. “Don’t touch!” The man jumps back, and tears swell. “I had a wife and two daughters, you know.” The words are flung like an accusation. “A wife and two daughters. I lost one daughter in the civil war, lost the other to plague.” He doesn’t seem likely to mention what fate presumably befell the wife. “A wife and two daughters,” he repeats, and then he collapses, sobbing. “It was the only thing that felt like living. They said it was cheap. It -is- cheap. But it’s costly.” He devolves into mumbles.

Krice tightened his hold on the suffering stranger if only to ensure that he didn't fall and injure himself, as caused by whatever red-dirt-stupor affected him. He listened to the rambling, the emotion, saw Lionel in his periphery, but kept his focus on the stranger. Straightening his arm, the enigmatic swordsman lowered the civilian to the ground as he collapsed, allowing him at least some reprieve from further injury by guiding him through a gentler descent. Only then did the warrior release the mumbling man and straightened to his full height once more, a shake of the head preceding a fuller glance sent at Lionel. He harboured a bit of sympathy for this ailing male, but was steadfast in his earlier stance; this man was not -forced- to take the red dirt. This was ridiculous - someone poisoning the population, and to what end?

Lionel subconsciously takes a step back, trying his best to turn a gasp into a more natural deep breath. “Right now, it’s still a relatively small percentage of the population. But this has bloomed practically overnight. I don’t like that.” He shakes his head. “Tomorrow, I’m leading an expedition with the full brunt of the Warrior’s Guild. No sooner did we finish the saurian threat than a bunch of super-sized -bugs- attacked us. Rorin and I located a sprawling colony beneath the Southern Sage. It’s the stuff of nightmares. Krice, so much is happening so quickly all over the realm. Remember that feeling I told you about? Like we’re all being herded?” He frowns.

Krice sighed again, this time in a moment of minutely obvious frustration. He glanced away from Lionel during his words to help the suffering civilian to his feet, a hand under each arm, only releasing the man once he was more solidly under his own power. Leaving the stranger to continue on his way, the enigma watched with evident empathy amid his bemusement before he glanced over at Lionel. " Is any of it connected to the earthquake in Larket?" He squinted. " Or is it too early to tell?"

Lionel watches the civilian leave, wracked with remorse. “Still too early, damn it.” He doesn’t deliver those words with anger, but with something closer to guilt; he’d hoped to have solved that particular mystery weeks ago, and he’s not entirely satisfied with himself as a result. As the drug-addled man vanishes into the night, Lionel finally reverts his attention to his friend. “Have you heard anything new on that front? What I wouldn’t give for a week’s worth of some crazy spell that compelled you to stick in one place.” He chuckles dryly. “Always, we have questions for one-another. It’d be nice to have five minutes to enjoy some bread or something.”

Krice sighed through his nose at Lionel's answer and looked away, staring northward in the direction of the tavern. As the Knight-Commander's words dissolved to allow a hint of humour amid talk of the more sinister problems facing Frostmaw, the warrior cringed slightly and shook his head. He knew himself to be 'evasive' even in everyday life, never still in one place for too long. " Bread's overrated, anyway," he mumbled in a vague attempt to keep their interaction light, if only for a few seconds. The warrior continued, to answer Lionel's question: " I've heard nothing. Granted, I haven't been actively investigating, and it has been days since I was last in Larket."

Lionel seems to drift from a half-smirk back into a grimace without his eyes ever failing to look serious. It’s the juxtaposition of forced brevity and hard times. It’s the kind of humor found on the faces of all those fated to live in historic eras. It’s a common blend. “Still, I appreciate the intel. I suppose I’d best consider sleep. Or at least, consider considering sleep. Tell me one more thing, man.” He pauses, evidently choosing how best to tackle this. “Where you’re from -- is it always this crazy there? Lithrydel doesn’t know how to breathe between crises. I don’t think it’s ever learned.” He smiles despite himself, but those eyes never change.

Krice wished he could offer Lionel more assuaging information, but unfortunately, information was hard to come by when people at the top were holding their tongues, and the citizens below them were too infected to know their minds from their asses to let alone be valuable witnesses. Following Lionel's want to 'ask' him something, the warrior returned his gaze to the Knight-Commander. 'Where you're from'... He hadn't expected it and his brow arched slightly but his jaw stiffened, a subtle shift denoting defensiveness. He hadn't intended to appear so standoffish about the subject, however, as told by the smoothing of his features as he schooled his response. " I haven't been back there for many years. For all I know, it could be just as crazy now as this place." He shook his head, dismissing the topic as he sent a final glance in the direction of that suffering widower. When he returned his attention to Lionel, it was for Krice to bid the other male farewell. " Good luck considering sleep. Don't get blown up."