RP:Mad Mac - Fury Road

From HollowWiki

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc


Summary: Macon, Josleen, and a kingsguard detail of six travel from Cenril and Larket. A furious madness takes root in two of the kingsguard and they attack Macon and Josleen. During the brawl, Josleen tries to escape, but is stopped. Two of the guard die and the rest of the group, bloodied and tired, continues to Larket.

Northern Sage Forest

Josleen sits across from Macon in a luxurious carriage, completely incapable of relaxing in a cabin designed to pamper and entertain royals. Her back is ramrod straight. Macon faces forward and Josleen rides backwards, so that when she looks out the window in order to avoid Macon’s stare she sees all that is being taken from her again: the relative safety of Cenril, Kelovath, Skylei, Gigi (somewhere). To keep her mind from conjuring distressful encounters in her near future, she focuses on fantasy. In her mind, she boldly opens the carriage door and barrel rolls out of the cabin, landing flawlessly on her feet like a cat, dodging spells and swords alike, and out running every kingsguard and Macon himself. For all the agility and dexterity she possesses in her fantasy, her body in reality does not move, save her eyes which dart to and from Macon shrewdly. She lacks the courage to meet his gaze for long in such close quarters, but she cannot help but try to observe him. Whatever she can learn about him may help her in the days to come. If it is just days. She hopes.


Macon has traveled exceedingly light, in line with his secret exit from Larket, and as such has not packed coachmen. So it is members of the Kingsguard piloting the pair of carriages that move from Cenril back towards The Hard City. An armored male is at the reigns of each, accompanied by one of the mages running shotgun. Inside the second carriage are the remaining two guards enjoying lunch from the coastal city while one remarks to the other that he’s ‘had mermaid tail before.’ Whether he means as a food or in some other capacity this group may never know. Wendel, the round, male mage, sits at the front of Macon’s head carriage and imperceptibly uses his magical abilities to smooth out any speedbumps and potholes on the road before them as they move, aiding the novice drivers. Inside the lead carriage Macon too avoids eye contact for the most part, looking out the window as well, but forward to Larket; home. They near the border when The King breaks a long silence and turns his grey stare towards Josleen, “You spoke with Andurla’s Spirit?” He asks curiously, like he is asking about the health of an old friend.


Josleen meets Macon’s gaze when he speaks. His tone surprises her, and without his glower he appears to her much more approachable. He’s normal-looking, even a little handsome, for an older man, in his way. “Yes. I paid a medium to hold a seance. The estate… the one Kel--” She recalls how Kelovath’s name alone sets off the king’s temper, and adjusts, opts for more passive language without blame. As his prisoner now, keeping him from anger serves her best interests. “The estate I lived in before I left Larket, that was Andurla’s second home. Her spirit haunts the walls. She’s restless, as are the spirits of those who come to violent ends.” Her gaze narrows slightly, assigning blame even as she tries not to assign blame. Wary of the conversation veering towards murder accusations flung against Kelovath, she presses on. “I never knew her in life, but I have heard she was a wonderful woman.”


Macon’s eye twitches ever so slightly at even the beginning of the Arkhen Paladin’s name, but a light bump in the road that Wendel missed veils the reaction mostly. The King frowns genuinely as Josleen narrows her eyes on him, recalling the night of the councilwoman’s murder. He’s chosen the subject of conversation well, as it truly is something he feels real regret about, once again allowing the deceiver to weave inklings of truth into his tale. “She was.” Macon agrees while nodding once and lowering his gaze slightly, “It is regrettable what happened t’er... But she became truly lost.” While The Death Knight is not steering the conversation towards a Kelovath accusation as Josleen had thought he might, the driver of their carriage abruptly steers their carriage sharply to the left and off the road. The whole thing is on the verge of tipping over, rage axe and stone crown sliding around loose in the cabin, but instead winds up leaning diagonally against a thick tree trunk, with only two wheels still in contact with the ground. The carriage behind stops and the two inside it rush out, but by the time they do the lead driver is already moving around to find a way inside to Josleen and Macon. Wendel, unfortunately is unconscious and sporting a bloody nose resulting from a sweet suckerpunch from his driver.


“Lost?” Josleen asks before the carriage is thrown. The force of impacts lifts and throws her body like a ragdoll against the tree-side wall of the cabin. She cries out more from shock than pain, though her arm and hip do smart from the impact. She hisses inward through clenched teeth as she fumbles for the door handle. When it comes to fight or flight, Josleen, true to her damsel-esque nature, often picks flight. The handle turns, but the door won’t budge even a little against the tree. “The other door!” she cries, hoping Macon understands. Whether he does or doesn’t, she pulls herself across the bench to the elevated door which is now diagonally above her. Arm outstretched, she reaches for that handle just as, outside the cabin, the driver yanks down on the elevated wheels and sends the cabin crashing onto the ground. Josleen flies against that door, and the king’s axe’s broadside smacks against her back as it too is thrown. Now she cries from pain. The driver, with his sword drawn, yanks open the door and lifts his arm to attack both Macon and Josleen, when suddenly a bolt of blue-white energy erupts on his back like fireworks. The driver jerks and twitches as though electrocuted, but it isn’t enough to fell him. Behind him, the lady mage prepares a second spell from her perch on the second carriage. The enraged driver (let’s call him Crowley) drops his sword-swinging arm to adjust his grip, and in a madness which abandons regard for his own life, lifts the arm again to swing at both Macon and Josleen (consequences and attacks from behind by damned) and cut them across the face or neck in one slice. A guard from the second carriage (Larry) charges Crowley from behind, but he too is attacked from behind by the guard who boasted about having mermaid tail (Nicolas). Nicolas fires an arrow into Larry’s neck just as Larry was about to cut down Crowley. Wendel is just about gathering his wits after the sucker punch, and Greg, the driver of the second carriage, is also charging Crowley on foot but is too slow to be effective in the moment. Crowley’s sword swings down on the king and thane.


Macon slides on his rear from side to side atop the bench seat at the back of the cabin as the carriage tips and tips again. During the commotion he lets out a low growl and unconsciously releases a pulse of that same furious aura felt in Cenril. He cringes twice, once when Josleen gets whacked with the Rage Axe during the normalizing tip of the carriage and once when Crowley is blasted with a lightning bolt. With the door now open and the driver preparing to strike again Macon moves to meet the insane man at the door, vainly reaching behind him for his trusty axe as he does so. Crowley’s sword arm comes down and The King of Larket roughly shoulders Josleen out of the way as he dives forward, grabbing hold of the Kingsguard’s wrist and stopping the strike. The King tumbles out of the carriage, rolling with Crowley to the ground into an unfortunate position; Macon pinned beneath the guard who struggles to free his wrist while tossing errant fists down onto The King’s armored torso and chest... Maureen is a werewolf, a fact that she has successfully hidden during the vetting process of joining the rotating roster of Kingsguard and one that has no bearing on the current situation as the moon isn’t even out right now. Still, it might explain all the suspicious sniffing around while they were in Cenril. For now the king is in danger, and this girl is a pro. Calmly she exhales from her spot standing at the head of her carriage after having just flung that first wicked bolt and starts into another incantation in order to fire another. She finds herself unable to do so however as she would just as soon electrocute Macon as Crowley in this position. Instead she flicks a sparking finger towards Nicolas, who’s bow splinters and explodes in his hand like a tree obliterated by a lightning strike, clearing the path for Greg.


Josleen presses against the wall as Macon shoves her out of the way. Crowley and the the king wrestle on the ground. Maureen attacks Nicolas. Greg runs to save his king. Wendel dismounts from the carriage and takes to the air, his fingers twitching to cast a spell on Crowley. And Josleen? She sees an opportunity to flee, and takes it. None of these jerks are her allies, a conviction reinforced and made rage-hot by Macon’s furious magic. Josleen circles the carriage away from the rest of the group and jumps into the driver’s seat unseen. She takes the reins and whips them against the horses’ backs, hard. The horses peel off in a gallop, the carriage bouncing dangerously as she tears away faster than the axles can handle from a standstill in mud. She mushes the stallions on both vocally and physically, faster and faster, go go go go go. Wendel, from his position in the sky, has to make a quick decision. Attack Crowley or stop Josleen? With Maureen, Greg, and the King himself sufficient to handle Crowley, he opts for the latter. He casts a large area of effect spell beneath the carriage to enfeeble the horses and Josleen herself. Beasts and burden and woman alike suddenly grow weak and slack. The horses, as dumber creatures with less resistance to magic, are especially susceptible. Their legs bend like taffy and they drop where they galloped. The carriage, moving so quickly, collides with the horses’ hindquarters and tosses Josleen out of the seat and onto the horses’ backs in an uncomfortably angular position. She slowly, weakly, picks herself up and keeps running, or trying too. The spell exhausts her. Winded and weak, but no less determined in spirit, she continues to put distance between herself and Macon. Greg, enraged by Macon’s natural spell, employs no discretion as he beheads Crowley, whose blood sprays all over Macon’s face. Maureen was about to cast a paralysis spell on Crowley, but Greg’s method led to the same effect, albeit messier. “Are you alright, your grace?” she calls while looking towards the runaway carriage to see how her colleague Wendel fares in retrieving the prisoner.


Macon turns his head and spits multiple times in an attempt to get that taste of Larketian blood out of his mouth. He releases Crowley’s now limp wrist, the sword having fallen from his hand sometime between now and the tackle. The King shoves what is left of the guard off of him with a grunt and pushes himself to his feet showing off a fat lip he’s earned in the struggle. “M’fine.” he responds to Maureen at the same moment poor Nicolas is on the receiving end of a spell meant initially for Crowley, the bowman falling limp. Out of all of them The King regards Greg least thankfully. “I would ‘ave preferred you knocked ‘em out...” he says coldly. Calm slowly washes back over the group and Macon’s uncontrolled aura of anger subsides. Wendel, with blood caked in two streaks beneath his nostrils from that punch Crowley delivered, easily catches up with Josleen and drops himself in front of her, waving his hands in a non-magical manner so as to usher The Thane back in the direction of the rest of the group. “Now now… We’re nearly to Larket. Let’s not rush ahead.” Behind the fat mage and the captive the others are piling into the one carriage that hasn’t crashed twice, Nicolas being thrown into the front seat beside Greg, who is now driving. They’ll catch up to the slow moving pair in no time and once in Larket will surely send someone to retrieve the fallen comrades and coach.


Josleen knows she won’t win in a fight against Wendel, to say nothing of her fate when the rest of the group catches up. So she complies, but with silent resilience. She glares at Wendel imperiously and adds him to the list of people who will meet their comeuppance once she is free from this ordeal. In the carriage, she sits where told with obvious discomfort. She was thrown three times and bruises will bloom soon enough. The gore doesn’t excite or disturb her. As a wartime nurse and veteran of three wars, it takes more than decapitation to surprise her, and she can tell at a glance that Macon is, unfortunately, fine. Despite her own pain, she sits with her back as straight as possible, her chin held high, and makes a point not to look at Macon.


Macon, for the most part is silent when Josleen reenters the carriage that they share with Maureen now with Wendel hovering above the convoy of one. The King seems deep in thought about what has just transpired, still unaware of the strange power the Rage Stone has transferred to him, but worried that the issues plaguing his Kingsguard are his fault none the less and he is to blame for an unnecessary pair of Larketian deaths.. Flecks of Crowley viscera still stuck to his face Macon eventually looks towards the defiant Josleen and assures her, “We will have your injuries looked at as soon as we arrive. Larket ‘as great doctors. The best.”


Josleen looks at Macon when he speaks, again surprised by his tone. The blood on his face serves as a reminder that he risked himself for her. Granted, he needs her alive, lest he become dragon lunch in the near future. Nonetheless, despite needing her alive, he needs himself alive before all else, and he risked that. A calculated risk, sure, but Josleen can’t help but wonder, given the conversation that was interrupted by the attack, and given his concern now, if maybe he does wish she escape this unscathed, that he sees are as key to his goals but not an enemy to be slain. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking on Josleen’s part, she would certainly feel safer if that were the case. Still, she has a nagging feeling that perhaps he isn’t as irrevocably monstrous as she assumed. “Thank you,” she says, then feeling herself too kind to her captor, she looks away, back out the window, and says nothing more.