RP:Plot Twist - Kelovath Is Bad?!

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Macon arrived in Cenril to meet his prisoner Thane Josleen, captured byThronnel. Macon tells Josleen that Kelovath has deceived her, that Kelovath is responsible for all the plagues and misfortunes that have fallen on Larket in recent days. Josleen for a moment wonders if that could possibly be true? Then decides it is not. Kelovath is good; Macon is a monster.

Macon takes her to Larket with him.

Fancier Room for Rent, Cenril

Macon has arrived in Cenril from Larket without the majority of Larketians knowing he has even left the city. Inside the coastal town he is far less covert than when he departed his own kingdom. The Furious King, as per usual, is in full armor, with a marble crown replacing a helmet, and the empty Rage Axe strapped to his back. He is accompanied by a six-pack of Kingsguard which, if one were paying attention to the entourage for the past couple of months, seems to have a rotating roster that changes at least once every two weeks. To an outside viewer it would seem The King has just not decided upon the right lineup of characters to protect his royal life, but the true reason behind the constantly changing group is not nearly as fickle. Today's Kingsguard is a refreshing change of pace with a pair of human mages sprinkled into the more ordinary looking armored warriors. One slightly rotund male with light, thinning hair and a long, mangled wooden staff, and a dark haired young woman that appears to be suspicious of every stray gust of wind. Had either of those magic users been without the other they would have thrown off the whole symmetry of the group, but together in their wizardly robes, one on each side of the king, they do not seem out of place as they travel through the city. The party members (Other than Macon, of course) are only vaguely aware of why they have made this trip out to Cenril, the identity of this lavishly imprisoned captive they are visiting is unknown to them, but they do know it is not the criminal Kelovath, and aside from the skittish mage, they don't particularly seem on edge, expecting any conflict. Macon sheds two thirds of the Kingsguard, taking only the female mage and a single swordsman with him before meeting with Thronnel either inside the Inn or just outside, wherever the elf is waiting. He greets Josleen’s captor with a nod and faint smile before half heartedly congratulating him on a mission accomplished and asking to be briefed on the current situation one more time before being led in.

Thronnel waited for Macon outside the inn, having placed a couple enchantments on the room before leaving Josleen alone. No one was getting in or out without his say so. And Josleen's voice, still cursed to remain a murmur, wouldn't be drawing any attention. Thronnel glanced at the mage and swordsman, perhaps sizing them up, before turning his attention fully to Macon. "There isn't much to report. Josleen refuses to call off Frostmaw and insists that she has proof to exonerate herself and Khamsin, and in the process, condemn you. And she has been threatening and insulting me whenever I have the displeasure of her company. I hope you appreciate the things I've gone through for you. Come." Thronnel led the Furious King and his companions into the inn and towards his room. Pulling a key from his pocket, Thronnel dispelled his enchantments and opened the door. "You have visitors, Thane," he said as he stepped inside and held the door open for Macon and his people.

Josleen kept her composure throughout her abduction, a success owed less to her birth-given talents, and due more to her experiences. Enemies have abducted and imprisoned her before, on multiple counts, making for a bolder abductee than perhaps her captor had hoped. It also helps to have the longevity of your life enforced by a dragon. The last time Hildegarde and Josleen dined together, the dragon queen joked that she would much prefer to lock Josleen in a tower. Har har. Perhaps Hildegarde was onto something. But no tower Thronnel or Macon could design would keep a dragon out anyway, and therein lies the source of Thane Josleen’s confidence. The combat and political strength of others, and their devotion to her, has always been her greatest and only weapon. In a more succinct sense, her charisma is her weapon. She has enchanted weapons ranging from a dragon, a pair of paladins, a mage, a ranger, an engineer, and so on. One of her weapons would materialize at any moment and rescue her, of this she was sure. In the meantime, she entertained herself by insulting Thronnel. She hoped against reason that by egging him on she would force him to make an error and she could rescue herself (not underheard of, but unlikely). Of course, she knew this to be a pipe dream, and let him in on that knowledge that very morning. “I know I won’t succeed in forcing you to err. Not because you are clever or strong, but because you’re a lackey. Lackeys fear their master precisely because they know they are disposable. Just you watch. I’ll have you disposed of.” Now Thronnel left and Josleen’s mind wandered to Kelovath. He must be sick with worry. Imagining him tearing his hair out as he tried to find her made her heart ache and eyes a little wet.

Macon remains stoic while he listens to the information Thronnel gives him. None of it is really anything he hasn't come to expect. A few well placed nods assure the warlock that he comprehends what he is being told and The King punctuates the briefing with a reassuring, “Indeed. You ‘ave done well.“ Stepping inside the room Macon pauses, abruptly in the doorway, lowering his grey stare on the watery-eyed Josleen for a long moment. A sideways glance is sent towards Thronnel that says ‘-This- is what has been giving you such trouble?’ A hand is raised over his shoulder that instructs the remainder of the Kingsguard to remain outside the room so that the door will close leaving only the King, the Thane, and the Wizard inside. Macon steps to the side while remaining silent and bounces his stare back and forth between the two in the room with him. He removes the heavy stone crown from his head with his left hand, sliding the fingers of his right through brown hair immediately afterward while he sets the circle of marble down on a seat cushion. as he has done countless times before when the Rage Stone is socketed into the weapon, Macon drops the butt of the handle flat against the floor and releases the axe. With the furious artifact it would have remained standing, eerily staring down those in the room through a singular red eye, but without it the weapon tips and falls, loudly crashing into a side table on the way down with a loud crash while the Death Knight walks away. An almost imperceptible growl grows in the back of his throat and he pauses briefly in his approach before choosing to pass this off as an intimidation method rather than the bout of forgetfulness it really is. Still, something strange happens in that moment of veiled anger from The King. A sort of pulse of rage moves through the room like a wave of forced empathy radiating from Macon. This effect is much weaker than anything Thronnel previously may have experienced coming from the furious artifact, which is not present, but it is certainly noticeable. Finally he fixates his stare on Josleen and grits his teeth before leaning forward slightly and barking out, “I hear you say you can dethrone me at a moment’s notice. Speak then. What do you -know-?” That last word is said with an air of condescension, suggesting that her 'evidence' isn't very impressive.

Thronnel winced as the axe crashed to the floor, destroying a side table on the way down. Well, he wasn't going to pay for that. The warlock watched Macon make his demand in silence.

Josleen slides her gaze to the door as someone enters, expecting Thronnel but finding instead a stranger in a crown. This must be Macon. Her eyes widen in surprise, at both his presence and the look of him. In her mind’s eye the villain Macon had looked like all villains should: ugly, a little fat, beady-eyed, with a bulbous purple nose swollen from years of too much drink. But instead he is trim, tall, and his eyes glower rather than squint. Unable to bear how normal he looks, she looks away, out a window where the silvery sunlight of winter catches on her tear-dewy lashes and gleams. She startles when the axe crashes, shoulders jerking upwards and inwards so she looks even smaller. She regards Macon through her periphery like a hare regards a wolf. He isn’t a lackey; him she may fear as hopefully he fears Hildegarde. Noticing how her watery eyes disarm Macon, she makes no effort to wipe her eyes. If he thinks her weak, it is to her benefit; this she can come to understand and exploit in the near 3 decades of her life. Her soft golden hair, rosy cheeks, deep eyes are natural gifts that serve her as armor the same way a porcupine is served by its spines. Her lips purse as he barks for answers. No small talk, no class, a thug in a crown. “All of my evidence is safeguarded in Frostmaw. Harming me won’t change that. It’ll only embolden the Queen. Your stone, a confession from the rat, the word of Andurla from beyond the grave. You’re finished, and the people of Larket will soon be free of an usurper. There is nothing I can tell you now that will stop this. At best I can advise you show me kindness and I will perhaps persuade Kelovath when he is king to take mercy on you.”

Macon starts to pace, as he often does, while listening to Josleen’s list of damning evidence, and threats. The repetitive motion back and forth stops after a very short time however, when ‘your stone’ leaves her lips. He freezes and looks her way incredulously and one can practically see the gears turning through his expression. All of it is an act, but he pulls it off miraculously well, the surprise at the word ‘your’ she used to describe the Rage Stone. The Furious King stares her down, as if attempting to see through the Thane and divine the truth. ‘Is she feigning ignorance? Or does she truly not know? Again, the look is false, practiced, but well done. The Death Knight even manages to keep his fury in check at the mention of the Paladin becoming king. He leaves her threats and the rest of the evidence alone, as it can be explained away with singular lines, and focuses on that one word: ‘your’. “-My- stone?” He tilts his head and shifts in place, “Surely there's no need t’keep up your appearance now and call it tha’... Unless you have been deceived along with the rest of Larket…”

Thronnel glanced at Macon. Either there was something he hasn't been told, or Macon is pretty good at lying through his teeth. Still, he said nothing, and merely let the conversation play out.

Josleen‘s gaze narrows as Macon’s response veers far away from the expected. What is this? As an actress, she is aware of how easy it is to feign an expression, but still, even actors can be fooled by their peers. Genuine or false? Hard to say. “What is this?” she asks of him, the greatest villain of her recent history, the reason Kelovath was imprisoned and that her name was slandered. He is the whip that drove Kelovath and Josleen out of their home. He’s a monster, she reminds herself. Monsters lie. While normally she would remain quiet here, the furious effect Macon has unleashed in the room prompts her to cut him off the moment he speaks. Her voice cuts into his with an aggressive growl quite unlike Josleen. “Lie to me, and I’ll forget the virtue of mercy.”

Macon maintains his ponderous look and nods once when she threatens him again, outwardly deciding that, yes, he will believe that she does not know the recent history of The Rage Stone’s ownership. “So you don't know… strange… I just would ‘ave thought you were let in on it. Given how close you are to him. Hmm…” He takes in a deep breath and exhales in a quick sigh. “Allow me t’humor you then with an alternate sequence of events… the truth… In which Kelovath returns from his long absence to Larket with that strange gem and the Fermin attacks begin…” This act now is as much for Thronnel as it is for Josleen as this part of recent events has always been fuzzy. He goes on to describe the horrors of the attacks and how the Paladin was so conveniently and suddenly present to be the hero, and then of Macon’s discovery and theft of the stone after he had been made the scapegoat by Khasmin and the rest of the council. “You must ‘ave noticed the change. It was so pronounced when I took the stone from him…” He pauses, pretending to contemplate how this changes the way he should be addressing the Thane with this new knowledge of her ignorance. “...The Fermin attacks stopped, he was no longer looked on as the hero of Larket, and the people's manufactured hatred of me waned.” He starts to pace again, getting into the groove of his story, “And now we have seen the results of an evil man and a righteous man in possession of the stone… a Larket terrorized with fear to prop up one man… and a Larket united as one…” He frowns and adds, “Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised though that you weren't told… I promised him to leave you out of all this while he was imprisoned… still he fled knowing it would bring you down with him…” This is actually a truth, which Macon knows to weave into lies so that even he can believe he is being honest.

Josleen‘s face twists in confusion, jaw slack as Macon recounts his version of events. It cannot possibly be true. Kelovath, who has always been so tender with her, so devoted, risked his life for her on several occasions, who serves the god of light and truth, how can he be vile? More than that, she has seen his love for her in his eyes. “You’re a liar,” she says all breath and no voice, a gasp. A little stronger she says, “You have some nerve.” But it is exactly that nerve that makes his story so compelling. Liars lie, sure, but normally those lies are plays on facts. Liars take the stone of truth and massage it into malleable clay. This? This isn’t rooted in stone or clay, but a slap from a hand Josleen never saw coming. Who takes this sort of risk? Who has the balls to make up something so egregious? The sheer audacity of it warps the lie so totally it almost looks like truth, and Josleen feels a pang in her chest as the possibility -- just the possibility -- of being so deceived constricts her heart. The hard, stone fact she truly loves Kelovath paradoxically helps Macon. She cannot think of Kelovath with a even and calm mind. Love makes her run too hot. It’s all or nothing. Either he is true, or he wronged her intimately; no shades of gray. But she resists believing Macon, she still wants to believe in Kelovath. “You have some nerve,” she repeats like a broken record. His story replays in her mind. She grows dizzy, gaze drifting out to window to stare at nothing. Larket is doing better. The fermin attacks have stopped, but is it as Hsk Spittle said, or as Macon said? “Some nerve. Why would that fermin say that you…” But she answers her own question. Maybe the fermin told Josleen the truth, or maybe the fermin was covering for Kelovath. No. No that doesn’t make any damn sense. Her mind turns over every fact she knows to nail Macon in his coffin using his own words for iron, but every fact she knows could flip either way. This proves Macon’s guilt; no, this proves Kelovath’s guilt. She teeters on that precipice for so long it gives her vertigo and she pales. Her eyes cloud and she sees stars. Her torso grows slack as though at any moment she’ll faint.

Macon nods once at her initial accusation that he has some nerve, and soon turns his back on Josleen as she struggles with what he has just told her. Even if she had managed to get one of those questions about Hsk Spittle or some other aspect of this story, he likely wouldn't have answered it, knowing that The Rage Stone is everything here. If his possession of it is not damning then nothing else matters and she has nothing. He moves over to his fallen weapon and bends at the waist, armor clicking and scraping, to pick it up from the debris of the end table. Adeptly he spins the axe on the fingertips of his right hand and moves to reattach it to his back. The Crown is collected next and he looks towards Thronnel, wordlessly asking what they should do with her while speaking to Josleen over his shoulder, “Whether you can believe this or not...” That word ‘can’ is added with purpose, as if accusing her of being incapable of seeing the truth... “What really matters now is that Larket is well… with a leader it believes in, even without that stone. Are you conten’ bringing about war to protect the name of a single ‘paladin’?”

Thronnel moved to the remaining table and poured a cup of water. He then went to Josleen's side and placed the cup to her lips. "Drink," he said. He had his doubts concerning Macon's story, but if he's gonna play it this way, he'll follow the king's lead. Whether Josleen drank or not, he'd put the cup aside and say, "Listen to reason, Thane. Larket has suffered enough because of Khamsin. Don't let it suffer any longer."

Josleen feels Macon move away and doesn’t watch him go. His argument is as strong as hers, which is to say it is equal in its weaknesses as well. Every fact can be interpreted however they wish to view it, and neither one of them has any proof that could prove the other wrong. Like two theologists looking at the same sacred text, they argue for different dogma. Today he’s succeeded in telling her his counter argument. She’ll work on a new one, then, and look for more evidence. As it stands, yes, she teeters on the precipice, but with each passing moment she finds her balance. The stars in her eyes clear. She simply cannot believe a man so crude, intimidating, and cruel as Macon speaks the truth, while Kelovath Khamsin, who was with her the night of the attack at the fort, whom she knows intimately, speaks lies. It simply doesn’t compute in her worldview. In the morning, she’ll be embarrassed for having been so ruffled. Instead of feeling like Kelovath betrayed her, she feels for a moment that she betrayed him in that moment she wobbled, unsure of him. As for Thronnel’s glass of water, like hell will she drink water from his hand like an animal. She rejects him with an icy glare that leaves no doubt as to why she’s the Thane of the City of War. It seems Thronnel, too, was fooled by her petal pink armor. To Macon: “Perhaps you are right that I have not yet gathered enough evidence to dethrone you peacefully, as I--and Kelovath,” she tacks on as she realizes she speaks too truthfully. Who wants this coronation more? Kelovath or Josleen? ‘I’ she says, always saying ‘I’. “I plead for Queen Hildegarde’s patience. I had hoped to settle this with evidence and law, but war exists for when law is insufficient to carry out justice. You brought this war when you stole the crown. I demand you release me before you enrage Frostmaw further.” Beat. “And return my dog to me.”

Macon turns on her then, stomping towards Josleen at her latest and worst accusation. That force of Fury felt before is renewed and now nearly matches that of The Rage Stone’s more timid moments, “And who did I steal it from!? The stagnant council!? The Knight who now has fled the city three times when it is in need of protection?” He's counting his trip to Frostmaw and his escape from prison against Kelovath here. The Death Knight points a gauntleted finger towards the Thane and snaps, “I stole nothing. I gave Larket what it needed. Strength. And now it is Frostmaw that looks to steal from Larket, not me.” He blinks once while his sneer fades and he appears to awaken from some anger induced trance. Thronnel is addressed, slightly confused, “Dog?”

Thronnel sighed. All this shouting was going to bring the wrong kind of attention. "She had a dog with her when I captured her. The city guard took it. Gods know where it is now. But Your Grace, there are more pressing matters. She cannot stay here for much longer." He gestured to the room at large, "This is a hotel, not a prison. And while her gracious hostess may not miss her company, Khamsin certainly will, and it's only a matter of time before he asks the right person the right question."

Josleen shrinks back as Macon advances on her in a rage, but soon that same rage infects her and emboldens her to shout back. “You know he didn’t flee! He fought alongside Frostmaw in its war! Frostmaw, a former ally to Larket, until you came along!” Then Thronnel speaks, making some snide remark about her hostess which Josleen cannot chase now, and instead she nods curtly to the wizard’s greater point. “Release me. There is nothing more to be gained from these chats, and if you intend to use me as a hostage, you’ll find Laket razed to the ground.”

Macon lets out a low growl at the advice from Thronnel and the continued threats from Josleen. Finally, after some actual inward deliberation that looks exactly like the fake deliberation he had shown off earlier he makes his decision, ignoring the dog issue at first, “You are right.” This is said to the warlock, “We will not keep her here. She will return to Larket with me.” He means ‘us’ or ‘Us’. Wrath of the dragon queen be damned, apparently. To The Thane he says, “The dragon queen is not as convinced that our kingdoms were once allies as you. This grudge of the City of War goes back much further than my coronation, according to her.” Standing back to his full height he starts towards the door, meaning to let the Kingsguard know that they will have a top secret guest returning with them. The elf warlock gets one more look too, “Find that dog.” He hides the look that accompanies this order from Josleen, as it is one that says ‘Only if you think it will help this situation at all. I don't care one way or the other.’

Thronnel nodded to Macon. "Very well." Thronnel snapped his fingers and Josleen would finally be able to move her legs. "Where should I bring the dog, when I find it?"

Josleen knows what Macon says about Hildegarde’s old grudge is true and does not argue the point. Besides, she has more pressing concerns, namely her relocation to Larket. “I hope for the sake of the people of Larket that I am wrong about the consequences of this,” she says in what she hopes is an even tone, but in truth sounds a touch more fearful than she’d like to let on. It’s a genuine concern not only for herself but for Larketians, the very people who have dragged her name through the mud. For all her threats and antagonism, she truly would like to preserve as much life as possible. Her service in three wars has made her wise about war, but not hawkish. There’s no hope in putting up a fight. As soon as she feels the magic release from her legs she stretches them in the dull brown pants and men’s flannel shirt she wore as a disguise when Thronnel kidnapped her. On some level she laments not having her dresses and makeup to don like chainmail for the journey and war to come, though she’s too worried about what comes next to realize something as trivial as dress compounds her discomfort. But it does, she feels not herself in this disguise, which didn’t work anyway. Fish out of water, wilted flower, take your metaphor. She follows the kingsguard’s instructions and observes every minute detail as they begin the shuffle out of the inn, then the city. Any detail could help her now, and she has an eye for detail and a mind for memory. Throughout the trip she regards Macon warily. He strikes her as cruel. No, there’s no way what he said about Kelovath could be true. It can’t be.

Macon answers Thronnel simply, “The fort.” and continues out. The men and woman of the Kingsguard do not particularly like Josleen as she is an accomplice of the most wanted terrorist the city has perhaps ever seen, but The King will not tolerate any unprofessionalism from them on this journey. He explains, purposely in The Thane’s presence, that she is Larketian in a sense as, very much like them, she has been deceived by the Paladin, and is no more at fault for the crimes against Larket than themselves.. This serves to alleviate most if not all of the dirty looks she receives from the mages and guardsmen on the trip to Fort Freedom.

Thronnel nodded. "Then I will begin my search immediately." And, after the King, his guard, and their prisoner leave, he headed out into the city to find that mutt.