RP:Regrets and Destruction

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

Part of the Time Heals All Wounds Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Synopsis: Y'all let's get one thing straight, never talk with wild emotions. Penelope ticked off Krice by calling him a liar, but really, at that moment, she was not calling him a truther. Krice got upset. No more training for the two of them. Either way, there is this monster tho that is coming to Lithrydel that comes every, what was it? Kasyr says 800 years, but Penelope thinks it's 920ish, but she's long gone? Either way, Lithrydel is doomed if no one does something. Otherwise they be eatin' by a big ol' plant, ya dig? (Lionel's note: I dig.)

Frostmaw Tavern

Kasyr is being surprisingly diligent in this moment, as he pores over the accumulated notes he's made on the other fighters in the tourney. Sure, it probably looks like he's trying to bore a whole through a napkin covered in chicken scratch, but there's some alright bits of insight written on them. Which is probably why he cringes so hard when the tankard of ale he'd ordered arrives, and is summarily planted down directly overtop of them, sloshing booze down it's sides and onto the odds and ends he'd been jotting down about Khitti. "Ostil de Tabernac." The plate of mammoth rib (singular) comes right after, the Kensai giving behemoth chunk of meat an appraising look. "Thanks, enfin." Being studious is hungry work, after all- or at least, that's his excuse for why he's not going to be redoing all those notes.

Penelope did not know why she was in Frostmaw. Really there were only two reasons, Lionel and the clinic. Today was about the clinic. Although Lionel had wagons towed down to the healing hut, she still wanted to meet up with the people who were donating the supplies. She wanted to give them a specific inventory of what Kelay needed. After all that was done and over with, she would make her way to the tavern to finally find some warmth. By Gods she hated the cold. The woman breathes a relieved sigh as she enters the doors and makes her way to order a spiked warm apple cider to warm her red upturned, freckled nose and red-tipped fingers. Frostmaw was the worst.

Krice entered the tavern shortly after Penelope; she might even have felt a hint of fresh chill across her ankles as he pushed open the door, before she moved out of range to order apple cider at the bar. His expression was its usual guarded thoughtfulness as he scanned the room, but the woman was his primary focus. As he turned to approach her at the bar, he caught sight of another familiar figure in his periphery, visible between the other patrons who milled about each other - most drunk, some tipsy. Given his nearness to Penelope, and Kasyr's yet-to-be-eaten meal, the silver-haired warrior chose to arrive at the woman's side first. Dressed in his usual black attire plus thin black robes that were too inadequate to protect against Frostmaw's chill, the warrior waited for her to finish a mouthful before he announced himself. Resting his right arm on the counter to face her, left arm down, katana strapped to his hip beneath those robes, he greeted, " Hey. Haven't heard from you in a while."

Kasyr offers a brief wave to the arriving pair, moreso to the enigmatic swordsman- though there was at least a vague sense of familiarity from the healer. Clearly, he hadn't drunk enough- but getting into the same state as normal will help jog his memory. It's terrible logic, to be sure, but it would be a waste to neglect a hot meal, and a cold drink- so he avoids interjecting as of yet, observing the proceedings as he makes good on stripping the meat of the ribs with a sort of famished haste.

Penelope felt someone behind her, but she saved herself from taking a glance. The healer gives sort of an odd look to the man waving at her, but not directly at her, but she ends up turning her gaze into a small smile in return. As the warm cider is ordered, she sticks her hands in her thick, coral, camel coat pockets for warmth for the meantime. ‘Hey. Haven’t heard from you in a while’. The familiar voice is clear, and her ordinary gaze looks at him for a moment to really identify the voice. Once she scrutinizes Krice, she narrows her gaze at him as if not expecting him to do something. “You lied,” her voice sounds like she is still trying to piece a puzzle together, though it is silken and controlled all-the-same—for now. The frizzy haired woman then turns her face forward. Her drink arrives on cue and her hands slowly slink around the cup to thaw her fingers.

Krice nodded to Kasyr with enough warmth of familiarity when the other man waved, his attention briefly stolen from Penelope. The Kensai might be able to note across the distance that he appeared to harbour more than just a passing interest in him - a want to chat, once they both had a moment. Penelope's accusation ensured that his focus returned to her almost immediately and his response quickly followed - a cool, " Excuse me?" The warrior's own disposition was characteristically level and devoid of emotional imbalance, but Penelope's accusation - which seemed to have genuinely taken him aback - ensured that he'd need to employ a little more focus to keep it that way.

Kasyr is in the process of tearing off a hunk of meat, when that particular turn of phrase escapes from Penelope. There's a part of him that is dreadfully curious about the matter, partly due to the oh-so-human interest in drama and misfortune. It's not just morbid fascination, however, if only because lying would generally involve more than the sparse few words that Krice reserves for people. It's only after a moments deliberation that Kasyr settles on mouthing a probably unnecessary 'good luck', before distracting himself with that tankard of Ale, and pretending like there's something else vying for his attention at that moment. Was there anything else interesting going on in this bar right now?

Penelope gingerly sips the cider in her hands. “Linken, you lied,” she repeats herself. The woman then turns and stares at him. “Or perhaps a white one. Still a lie. Stretching the full truth,” she shrugs. “Or do you not remember that you were about to attack him prior knowing anything about the entity attached to him? Were you going to leave that out of your story? Did the entity bonk your noggin’?” The woman takes another sip as if she was an all-knowing frog sipping tea. Perhaps she was not a screamer. Perhaps she was more petty and upfront. Either way, her questioning was light, but with the lightness came intimidation for most. No one tried to upset the healer. “Did the entity take your memory too? I’d –love- an explanation,” her brows furrow again over the mug that is to her lips. Her leg crosses over the other in patience.

Krice listened attentively to Penelope as she unraveled the reasons for calling him a liar, which didn't seem to faze him. He hadn't meant to make her feel misled so it was without hesitation - once she stopped rambling - that he provided an answer. " Listen to me carefully. I didn't lie, nor did I 'stretch the truth'. I answered all your questions honestly." She hadn't asked if he had hurt Linken - though that also would have been a 'no'. " I didn't know who he was when we crossed paths, which means I didn't know that -he- was your possessed ex. I sensed something in him--a stranger, not Linken--and swung my sword -slowly- to trigger it, not to hurt the elf. I never intended to hit him." The warrior's chin was angled slightly upward and his eyes were shadowed with projected indifference. He wasn't partial to Penelope's tone.

Kasyr actually has to cover his mouth a little, if only because of his track record with possessed entities. How many times had he outright barbecued or impaled a possessed host, and managed to get away from the whole ordeal scott free? It was probably a good thing he hadn't felt the need to interject himself in this situation. If anything, the only regret he has at this moment, is the lack of being able to pry more, if only due to how much this reminded him of his recent conversation with Odhranos.

Penelope gives the man a skeptical gaze as he begins to explain himself. “So you swing swords at strangers? Did you sense danger? I feel like this is not what I’m supposed to… learn. I don’t want to learn from someone who just throws their sword at people.” She pauses and sort of side eyes him cautiously, however, it was her choice. She did not have to learn Krice’s ways, and perhaps she had a lot to learn about him as he did her. “He thought differently when you swung the sword. You scared him. He doesn’t remember anything. You sure pissed off whatever’s inside him.” The woman stands and leaves the steaming mug on the counter. The healer was only trying to show her strength and show what Krice taught her. “You need to trust me on this one. We don’t know exactly what we are messing with yet, so don’t attempt anything unless he charges at you. Please. Just until I can get more insight.” She lets out an uneasy breath for a moment. “Perhaps you should use your sword for better purposes. Maybe you should try talking to Lionel or Quintessa Dragana about the new burden in all of Lithrydel. Xicotl. Seems to be a bigger problem than whatever lingers in Linken.”

Krice studied Penelope quietly. He seemed a little displeased by her impression of him and averted his eyes when she stood, giving his head a small shake. " Xicotl, I'll look into it." Still standing, himself, the warrior simply slid his right arm off the bar and regarded Penelope a final time. " I don't typically swing my sword at strangers. I -did- sense danger, there -was- a reason for it... but seems you think I'm some kind of monster now. You don't want to learn from me, fine. You're the one who begged for lessons, anyway." Had she hurt him? Maybe. Whatever the case, he stepped away from her to approach Kasyr at his table. He didn't need to be called a 'liar' and essentially 'unstable', least of all by supposed friends.

Kasyr marvels at the exchange, if only because there's almost a sense of..normalcy that seems to exude from the healer. A sense of being grounded in a reality that wasn't a constant parade of murderous spirits, diabolic abominations, and otherworldly dictators. He almost whistles at the aftermath of the scathing exchange, but he manages to cut it blissfully short in a rapid and less-than-dignified chug of ale, an expression of beatific innocence plastered on his face by the time Krice begins to make his way over. "Evening, enfin. I'd have said there's pleasantries to be spared, et we need to talk- but apparament, the damoiselle over there already introduced you to our newest et greenest murderous demi-god thing." Was it the greenest? No take-backsies.

Penelope breathed in sharply at his response. The way that Linken had described it had more of a dark twist. As if Krice blatantly tried to kill the elf. She held her tongue, but there was a sense of guilt that began to crawl up her spine. Though, the way that he responds has her lost for words. He was right with her begging, but she could not manage to speak another word. She watches him move to the man who had waved before. Her chin tilts up and she begins to walk out the tavern door with her head held high. Before she leaves, she nods to Kasyr in acknowledgment. “Krice,” she says in hesitation. “Good luck.” There is a small look of regret for a faint moment, but she then continues out the door.

Krice didn't acknowledge Penelope again. She had reason to be upset with Linken's situation but she still stepped out of line with the warrior. Anyway, he dropped his focus to Kasyr as he occupied a seat opposite the Kensai, his katana resting alongside his right. The warrior sat slightly away from the supportive back of the chair and interlocked his fingers in his lap, regarding the other male stoically. " Well, since you've yet to throw accusations and insults at me, I'm open to hearing about it from you."

Kasyr offers a broad sort of shrug, the dregs of his tankard of ale sloshing up but never quite escaping before he resumes drinking, "I mean, considering she'd have been chewing moi out over the costs of a funeral if our positions were swapped, I don't think i'd have much of a leg to stand on to criticize." The tankard empty, he sets it down to the table, only now remembering to check up on his napkin/notetaking, and only now realizing that it was a complete ruin. "Calice." With a shrug, he instead allows his focus to return to the rib, plucking off a chunk of meat, if only so he can vigorously gesture with it. "So, apparament, there's a giant sentient weed that eats civilisations. It's dude every...800 hundred et some odd years. Et as it happens, we're looking at it's expected arrival time in upcoming days. Lionel es trying to gather a group of people willing to throw themselves face first into the bowels of the earth, to boldly..well, stab it a bunch, I guess, et see if it takes. Not much to work on if it's actually a demi deity or just a really old aberration. No real knowledge of any way to stop it, but well." It's here the Kensai pauses to actually finish up his meal a bit, his former notes now being used to then wipe off his fingers, "Well, if anyone tries to tell moi violence isn't the answer, I'd love to visit that fabled land of make-believe."

Krice was -appeared- oddly patient as Kasyr took his time to get to the actual sweet-spot of the conversation, shouldering concluding talk of Penelope like a hero who hadn't just been unfairly accosted by a friend. He could take down dragons; pfft, please, a little healer was nothing. When at last Kasyr jumped headlong into the explanation of the demi-god problem, the warrior squinted in bland disbelief and muttered in a monotone, " 'A weed that eats civilizations'? What, did the Gods get bored of maniacal humanoids?" It sounded so ridiculous. He'd be more tolerant of a city-eating plant if he hadn't just been irritated a moment earlier. Still maintaining an easy facade of calm, " How did... you--anyone--hear about it? Where's this info coming from?"

Kasyr takes Krices disbelief in striide, if only because Cabal things had meant he'd had to contend with a rather wide gamut of incredibly ridiculous yet altogether lethal occurences. In the face of that, this still fell well within the framework of 'Business as Usual'. Still. "Right? I think maybe they got tired of antagonists who spend half their time laughing evilly or monologuing. Evil plant, though? Probably can't do either." Kasyr is stuck between hoping it can't, or hoping that it will, and open itself up to being set on fire. "Anyways, you can blame Lionel for discovering the problem itself, et Quintessa for finding ancient texts that gave us a bit more insight on how long until our ... " There -is- such a dramatic eyeroll here, "inevitable doom. Such as it is. Really, it can get in line behind the other two demi-deities." There's more- but Kasyr doesn't quite look as eager to regale his not-quite-captive audience on those details. "Oh, et on my end- I followed Lionel to a cultist temple, et got to stab some of it's garden variety minions. So, first hand wise- there are definitely giant killer plants."

Krice was attentive -enough- though, to catch the various details of Kasyr's reply. It was the latter most comment that earned him a response, first: " Yeah, but those plants just eat fly-sized things. Maybe the occasional person. But whole civilizations?" Why did these crazy whackjob things exist? The warrior had experienced his own share of oddities over the many years he had been alive but a large, sentient and malignant plant just seemed so... out there. He squinted and regarded his currently-friendly--surely no one would blame him for his skepticism given his encounter with the -other- friend?--companion with a thoughtful stare. " What other demi-deities? And who's Quintessa?"

Kasyr actually finds himself appreciating the manner in which this situation seems to be galling the other swordsman, if only because this whole murderous yet heroic song and dance has become -normal-. His normal, anyways, because it definitely stands out as all sorts of outrageous in civilized company. "I mean, they probably weren't that good of a civilization anyways if they ended up plant food." Cold, Kas. Cold. "Though, I wonder how expansive it meant for the regions devoured. Life across the continent? One of the city states just disappearing? These are things I should have asked." Krice's other questions do help to ground the Kensai a little, "Oh, et Quintessas my student. She's a talented swordsman, et a scholar. Recently joined Lionels Warrior guild, so, if you're wanting a more academic rundown, she'd be the one to ask. As for the other problems. Well- the less said on them, the better. One es very much a drow problem, however." That's a bit of a fib, but explaining the nuances of that situation is tricky.

Krice wasn't amused by Kasyr's black un-humour but he didn't begrudge him it, either. The situation was weird and ridiculous to be sure, but clearly also dangerous. He nodded in acknowledgment of the unasked questions remaining so and filed a mental note for later use; he'd have to ask someone those very questions when next he got a chance. Kasyr's description of Quintessa made her a likely candidate. He squinted thoughtfully as Kasyr mentioned a drow problem and leaned forward, lifting his interlocked fingers to the table top. The warrior wasn't a racist, but he had been involved in some negative drow-interaction over the years, some of it very bad. " If there are demi-gods running around, maybe the -more- said of them is better. What do you know?"

Kasyr is somewhat grateful that he'd had time to finish his meal, because he's almost certain that if his appetite could retroactively take shelter, it would. The expression he gives is one that's altogether flat, and yet, he supposes that Krices concern is well warranted, "One of them is a not-quite-forgotten god of undeath, ou quoi-ce-soit. It's uh, find itself more active in recent days, making a mess of things for Gevurah, especially- since she's priestess of his rival god, ou something? I think that's the gist of the situation. I'd..clarify things, but I'd rather not, courrament. The other, which she had been contemplating pitting against the former, es an entity known as Gospel. Formerly a denizen of the mage moon. Currently- here." There's a vague gesture to accompany it, the swordsman suddenly looking far more tired, "Somewhere. I don't really know how to contend with it, what it wants, exactment, and have had little luck in hunting down it's cult. On that front, at least- quelling Lionel's problem seems to be the most immediate and solvable dilemma." There's a second shrug now, but it doesn't carry any sort of whimsy, looking more the motions of someone who seems utterly lost. "Does that answer your questions, enfin?"

Krice’s mind was still partially mulling over Penelope's animosity toward him, but with each new factoid shared by Kasyr, he was finding himself a little more focused on the present. The fact that two demi-gods plus a weird citizen-eating plant had surfaced all at once presented enough danger to his warrior mind that he could easily scrutinize the information given him than the silliness of things like hurt feelings. " It does," was his eventual reply for the Kensai and he nodded, slowly. " Thank you. Obviously more needs to be researched, but... You said Quintessa might possibly know? What does she look like?" He could find anyone if he had a little description to go on.

Kasyr actually looks a little bit relieved when he isn't pressed for yet more details, leaning back in his chair as he comes to the conclusion that he's blissfully avoided a more indepth interrogation. It also means he's free to focus a bit on painting a mental picture of Quintessa, to better answer Krice's . . . "Mm." Maybe a slightly less recent mental picture, "Around my height, might be a bit taller with her shoes. Black hair that's been cut short, pale, too- but I think the think you might notice es she has fangs that'd probably rival most vampires, et different eyes. One blue, one hazel. Oh- et she's another practitioner of our particular brand of sword, so that should make her easier to spot as well."

Krice hadn't meant to make Kasyr feel like he was being interrogated; he meant only to glean as much information as possible about upcoming threats. After digesting the description of Quintessa, he nodded thoughtfully at the points given--particularly the blade and fang points. " Okay... I'll keep an eye out for her." After a moment of silence, during which time his thoughts unintentionally drifted back to Penelope, the warrior opted to ask of Kasyr, " How're you doing, by the way? I meant to catch up sooner after the battle." With the undead dragon way out west.

Kasyr blinks a little bit, his head turning off to one side, as his expression drifts to a more thoughtful one. "Neither better nor worse, j'pense. Just been writing and working on some papers. I still need to catch up with some peers on those subjects. Beyond that, following the tournament, j'pense." The Kensai pauses for a moment, awkwardly, before he adds, "Beyond, this evening, et all, have you been faring well?"

Krice studied Kasyr quietly. Given the descriptive nature of his reply, he surmised that the injuries healed by Talyara on the battlefield weren't too much of a bother for the Kensai, if at all. He didn't seem particularly interested in the tournament; it was an annual thing for spectators who liked to see people battle each other for sport. It wasn't his thing. When Kasyr bounced the question of welfare onto him, the silver-haired enigma huffed out a quiet breath of wry amusement--tonight had started a little poorly, hadn't it?--but nodded a moment later. " I've been fine," he casually reassured. " No lasting effects." Noting the hour with a glance at the frosted windows, the warrior leaned away from the table and began to stand. " Anyway, thanks for the chat. Hopefully we'll be able to stop the demi-gods before they cause too much chaos." Though in his experience, a lot of loss often superseded victory. The thought chilled him. He offered a respectful nod to the Kensai. " Take care, Kasyr. We'll meet again soon, I'm sure." War dictated it.

Kasyr offered the swordsman an altogether amused look, if only because of how casually the conversation had winded. Don't mind us- just some run of the mill semi-demi-gods to slay. Be right home in a jiff, when business as usual is done. The thoughts enough that the Kensai has to suppress a chuckle, despite the gravity of what always came along with those unnatural incidences, "Hopefully it won't be due to an apocalypse in the making, for once. I'm not holding my breath on that one, however." There's a pause, and however rueful the Kensais expression may be, he still manages a brief boyish grin, "A bientot, hopefully in better weather."

Krice offered Kasyr a wry smirk for his hopefulness and bobbed his head in a nod of gentle agreement. " Yeeeaah, it will not be easier than the undead dragon." As he tucked his chair back under the table, the warrior used his right hand to angle his katana against his right hip, once more mostly obscured by his robes. " In better weather," he echoed, before turning to depart the tavern - hopefully with enough time having elapsed that a run-in with a certain ornery healer wouldn't occur.