RP:Occult

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Part of the Souls Out of Time Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: During his extended stay in Cenril, Lionel meets with Eirik, who requests aid in dealing with a witches' coven causing havoc in and around Venturil. The men silently set aside any lingering animosities at least long enough to set a course of action. Neither Eirik nor Lionel has any reason to suspect that the lycan's ongoing investigation will harbor ties not only to his inner demons but to Lionel's as well...

Cenril: The Winking Nod

Lionel shakes Mazrim’s hand awkwardly. The man is big, with a thick and sweaty hand as pale as silk. He’s heavily scented in gooseberries and lilacs and he towers over the Catalian. Mazrim’s taste in fashion is all golds and reds with miniature embroidered flowers; he looks like a god among nobles and moves like one too. With the barest cant of his head, Mazrim shakes Lionel’s hand back in a dainty fashion before flittering away a coolly-calculated two steps. His manservant, whose name Lionel and Esche were not given, appears beside Mazrim and wipes his hand with a delicate cloth. “On behalf of the most elegant city that ever was, Hallowed Adoneth of the Many Ages, this concludes our meeting.” Mazrim delivers the words less like a businessman and more like a preaching man. He and his companion depart The Winking Nod -- Mazrim’s feet gliding across the hardwood floor, his manservant shuffling to keep up -- and the patrons all look up with varying degrees of astonishment. Whoever that man was, whatever his business with Lionel, he was a strange sight in Cenril and he’ll be talked-about for hours to come. Lionel rolls his eyes and collapses into his seat by the fireplace, reaching for his goblet of brandy and taking what he believes to be a rather well-deserved sip. “That went better than I’d feared,” Esche reports. “Your next meeting is with… ah.” He pauses; Lionel glances at him quizzically. “It is with Eirik,” the elf finishes. Lionel snickers and flicks his index finger upon the goblet, which spouts a reverberating hum like a bell from the impact. “Best top me off, then.”

Eirik traverses through the room with a stride mixed of both haste and calculated footing. Firstly, he was in a hurry to head to the bar. Secondly, his cautious nature forced him to scan the faces among the crowd of patrons. Those silver eyes lock on Lionel, though mind stifles down past memories that are best left forgotten. Despite their history, he often wondered how his old commander fared? Were the duties and responsibilities he both carried by rank, and personal agenda adding up to be too much of a burden? Oh sure he noticed the odd man and his manners, and though he could tease someone about such an interesting display, says nothing. As per usual, the Northman comes prepared for some imaginary game of war. Both Brann Forbruker and his ice enchanted tomahawk swing from either hip. The Lycan had arrived dressed in his usual blacks and silvers. The only new addition to his attire is that crimson cloak that ties into his red sash. "Lionel," the Lycans voice mutters while pulling a chair up beside the fire place. "How are you?" Beyond all things. Looking past all of Eiriks history, he mentions nothing of it. He simply did not want to waste the commanders time. Things could be let out to dry at a later date. Lionel didn't need to drown himself in booze, unless he wanted too. "I hope you received my letter?" He asked more than stated.

Lionel had hoped for a brief respite before the next arrival. By now he should realize even when working remotely his position is too rigorous to hope for such things. Quickly, he buttons his black silk shirt down a couple more paces to assume a less stately demeanor. Not that Lionel has ever needed much help looking less stately. His posture has always tended toward either relaxed or combat-ready; finding the grace of dignified composure is not a quest that comes easily to him. He leans his right arm across his plush chair and hangs on to his goblet while Esche leans forward to replenish it. Esche, who has taken the time to bow in humble greeting to Eirik before doing so. “Can’t complain,” Lionel says. “Well, I can. Actually, I complain a lot.” Esche nods knowingly. “But the damned thing of it is, it doesn’t seem to accomplish a thing.” Esche reaches into the pocket of his green belted robes and procures Eirik’s letter, holding it out dutifully as he stands beside the two seated men. “I got the letter.” Lionel nods his chin toward it while he says the words. “I was out Venturil way with a dandy lass named Meri not so long ago. The townsfolk talked about that coven as much as they talked about the razurath incident. We took care of the razurath,” he speaks cryptically, not mentioning the half of the situation or the true culprits behind the scenario, “but I wasn’t able to investigate the witches at the time.”

Eirik casts his silver hues to Esche; a man he had met a few times, and gives him a very informal nod of the head. It's as if he was practically stated, too much of a gesture for a murder esche, but good to see you again. The bow is wasted, though its meaning gathered. His attention twists back to Lionel and his explanation of the razurath. Eirik knew Meri as well, but had not seen her in some time. Things have changed since the last time he had headed east. Lionel had manservants. Such a thing was not expected. Here Lionel sits, dutifully talking whilst being served. Eirik thought the commander above such things. He wondered how long he struggled to stay away from a full time servant? Though in truth, Esche's presence probably helped. "That's good to hear Lionel. Truly." Eirik’s demeanor is surprising to say the least. Relaxed. Leaned forward on the barstool he had procured as his chair. "And that’s okay." Eirik didn't expect the Knight commander to come burn the coven out of Venturil on his own accord. No. "I just need to know if perhaps, some of the old guild is around and looking for a little action. Or if you know of anyone looking for a fight." It seemed that his game of numbers weighed in the Covens favor.

Lionel doesn’t consider Esche a servant, and in fact it has often been remarked by their peers that Esche is afforded footing too equal to Lionel for someone foreign and from unknown lands. On these occasions, Lionel has had to remind his subordinates -- be they Frostmawian soldiers or Warrior’s Guild members or even third-party help -- that he, too, is foreign and from a largely-unknown land. Yet it can’t be denied that Esche’s actions today, and on many other days, publicly suggest a position far beneath that of his friend. It’s no short wonder Eirik has such thoughts. “I wish I could go there again, myself.” Lionel sips his brandy as Esche places a goblet down in front of their guest and pours. Whether or not Eirik will accept the drink remains to be seen, but the elf seems unconcerned either way. “I have… pressing engagements here in Cenril,” Lionel finishes. He won’t detail them. He won’t mention the fact that he’s here shadowing an amnesiac woman the realm thinks is dead. A woman with relevant shared history to Eirik -- a woman whose status Eirik questioned, leading to this parting-of-ways. Lionel can think of at least six reasons not to tell anyone who strolls through the door about Khitti’s whereabouts and the mission he’s taken upon himself to watch over her. In Eirik’s case he can think of at least sixteen. “We could afford to dispatch a few allies in your stead,” Esche suggests, breaking Lionel’s brief thoughts. “Rorin, perhaps. Or Thrace. There are others.” Lionel nods. “Yeah. What he said. Let me see who I can scrounge up. I won’t force them to go; Venturil’s not exactly around the corner. But I’ll give you who I can.”

Eirik gives a firm nod of understanding. "Thank you, Lionel." The drink is eyeballed for a moment, "Thank you Esche." The northman snags the goblet which had been laid out for him. "I know it might seem odd to come to you before asking the other members. It just seems polite." If you're in the home of a man you respect, you don't reach your hand into his ice-box and snag whatever you like. This was much more than he could ask for from the Knight-commander. The drink is now raised to lips as he washes his palette. "I do not mean to steal all of your time." At this moment it seemed that Eirik was trying to end the conversation, so that Lionel had a moment of free time. "I can be found at the barracks in Xalious, if you need to have word with me." He was nonchalantly offering his own assistance, drama free. He did miss the comradery of the group, but Lionel is right. Khitti was an issue. A big can of worms which neither seemed to want to open. That's totally fine. "Good day Lionel. May your ancestors guide you." Eirik would set the glass down, emptied as any Barbarian would do, waiting only moments for Lionel to complete his own business with the Lycan.