RP:Requiem for the Vengeful

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Summary: Still seething from having just barely saved Quintessa from bleeding out after her "peaceful talk" with Kasyr, Karasu storms the capitol to demand any semblance of an answer that can quell her bloodlust for the revenant.

Vailkrin Capitol Foyer

The crumbling castle which stood here has been rebuilt and refurbished and now serves as the Vailkrin state capitol building, despite remaining a formidable fortress. The entrance has been outfitted relatively modestly, a simple red runner leading the way north into the main room while the stone walls are left unadorned but for several flaming sconces, although a series of banners running down the hallway boldly pronounces a patriotic spirit, each flag bearing the black hand of Vailkrin. At the opposite end of the foyer a series of arches invites visitors to continue forward into the great hall or to turn into one of the wings of the castle.

Karasu has found herself without something useful to do since discovering Quintessa's mangled body at the edge of the Dark Forest. Hours, if not days, have been spent taking stimulants so that she does not have to sleep. If her condition were to worsen because Karasu took her eyes off of her, she would never forgive herself. At least... not any more than she already could not forgive herself for not realising that Quintessa had disappeared during the Blood Bowl. At some point after throwing the other strays of Castle Blackwell out in a fit of frustration, Karasu is led outside by the healers. "Your own stress is going to worsen her condition." He says, gently ushering the frazzled woman to the ground floor. The demifeline has already forgotten his name or rank within the Healer's Guild, but does not argue as she's handed a slip of paper with items to procure from the shops in the city proper. Karasu swallows thickly and feels something cold and metal in her pockets as the paper is stored away. "I'll be back soon." She says, making her way down the Streets of Vailkrin. The stores are passed, then the gargantuan arena, then Blood Bank. The spellblade has a specific destination in mind, and if Kasyr could feel as strongly as he claimed he could, then surely he would feel the tides of fury threatening to spill over as she approaches the Capitol Foyer.

Kasyr has been in the midst of a meeting when the first inkling of that pointed rage crept it's way into the back of his mind- insistent in a manner that common resentment was not. There was a fervent intensity to tose feelings, a sharpness honed by a certain sense of familiarity- albeit one that had begun to fizzle and fade. Eroded by circumstance, yet made pressing anew by the rapidly closing distance. "Look, you'll have your list of names to interview, et your documents, so quit twisting my arm over this. I'll be ready for you this evening." There's a finality to the words he says to the silver-haired man seated across from him, something which left the bloodsucker briefly stunned as the meeting's cut short, and the swordsman steps out from the parlour in the midst of his confusion. By the time the journalist has gathered himself, the swordsman's already turned down a series of corridors. He had somewhere to be, after all, His pace quickening so that he might reach the castle lobby first- to provide the facade of an amenable host in the face of yet another furious petitioner. Fine silk pants, and an equally narrow vest were his armour here- civility without the hint of swordsman. "Pfft." He casts a sidelong glance to one of the many polished suits of armour, reserving a small look of disdain for the stranger that stares back.

Karasu had no sooner finished climbing the staircase to the castle than when she sees the familiar sandy blonde hair and calico ears of the reclaimed ruler of the Capitol. A surge of conflict courses through her as she approaches him. At one point, she had adored him, and wished to be just like the hero of Vailkrin she had heard in whispered stories around the Mage’s Tower. Karasu was a different person, then. The woman who stands before Kasyr now, simmering with anger, is not the same naive spellblade just fresh from the beginnings of adulthood looking at anyone more powerful than she with adoring eyes that begged for attention and recognition of her efforts. A simple black tunic that falls just over the hem of the shorts beneath adorns her lithe frame, now pale from months spent in the perpetual night instead of out in the sunlight of the mountains. Deep violet curls cover the black mar on the left side of her face, leaving one ruby eye locked on Kasyr’s own. Were these the disapproving eyes that looked down on Quintessa before nearly tearing her heart out. Karasu’s breath quickens, and she shifts to her right, throwing a straight punch at his face. “Monster!” She screams.

Kasyr , on some small level, had hoped to avoid this. Some inhumanely rational part of his mind had simply pushed the possibility of this meeting to the far-flung future, when indignities would have time to fade. Where cold necessity was proven correct- and might have eroded the hardness in Karasus' heart- the steel which embodied her soul in this moment, a more fragile mirror to his own. As the demi-felines posture shifts to accomodate her violent intentions, the revenant simply observes- heightened perceptions allowing him the luxury of dissecting the details. The weariness which shadow her face like makeup, the lack of hesitation in her hostilities- and even, the oncoming fist as it drifts forward. Perhaps she clutched something, intent upon delivering an insult paid in dragon's blood- some suicidally spiteful action. And perhaps, he owed her that much, his posture failing to shift save for the faintest tilt of his face, so that her knuckles impact into the unyielding flesh of his jaw. ". . ." And once more the accusation, the acknowledgement, is lain at his feet, his anwer the only one he knows, "Yes." He starts to say something else, and yet, the look on her face is unyielding, a betrayed outrage that leaves him uncertain, save for the curt pleasentries that come to mind, "We've long established this." What could he say to her. what clipped words could he offer- what meager justification that might not imperil everything if the changeling was watching, and her master in turn. "You look unwell."

Karasu stares at the kensai in disbelief as he takes the punch unflinching and answers her outcry with a measured coldness. She withdraws her fist, her posture slumping in defeat. Karasu couldn’t take on Kasyr in a fight. Not while he was like this, and she was the way she was. Even on her best days, not running away from an eventual stimulant crash if not maintained, using the full forces of the gifts the D’Chath blood had bestowed upon her, it was nowhere near close to the power of a revenant. His next statement forces her eyes back up at him, the surge of anger returning. “Maybe I look unwell because I found the body out on the steps of the former Dragana Manor.” Not entirely a lie, she had slit the throat of a gossip monger who had attempted to approach her earlier in her furious state of checking in on the healers. “Are you so arrogant to believe that she worked with that creature by choice, knowing it had taken my sister by force?” Karasu bites her tongue until she can feel the coppery liquid on her tongue. She wanted to scream at him about he had ruined her ideas for Quintessa to betray the God of Undeath, a plan that could only be spoken of in dreams because it was watching all those close to its messenger. Venom drips from her lips as she tries to answer just as coldly, “Yes, I look unwell. I feel unwell because you are still alive and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Kasyr can feel his jaw shift slightly, the sliver of despair worming it's way into her posture difficult to look at. Not for the first time, Valrae's comparison bubbles to mind, words she'd tried to walk back in the face of the poisonous truth she'd been so hesitant to embrace.An unnecessary breath is taken, a measured exhale that sees his hands drawn behind his back, right hand encircling his left wrist, "Better a body then a corpse. I left you something to find." His gaze flicks up briefly, as though peering for something unseen- to see if there might be some primal sense of being scrutinzed. An uncertain emptiness greets him, and the rising fury of the demi-feline draws him back to the moment, "She said as much. Nor was it the first." His right foot shifts smoothly, his body turning so that she might have access to step further into that dread desmesne, "And given she once tried to barter you away to me, I'm not sure how much weight your sister carries." There's something there, the first hint of proper emotion- a roiling disdain that tries to supplant itself over his carefully controlled neutrality, before he masks it with an abrupt, " ...Would you like somewhere to sit? Something to eat?" He takes a measured step, gauging whether she'll begin to follow, "I'm sure you can plot a suitable ending on a full stomach." There's not a hint of mockery in his tone. Simply, indifference.

Karasu sneers at his commentary. “I believe I remember that ill wit; she tells me everything, Kasyr. And what she hides, I find out about it. When she tried to offer me alongside herself, it's because it was something I wanted during a time that I could still trust you.” The anger gives way momentarily to something else. Excitement. Embarrassment. Shame. “Before you threw me into that rooted abomination and left my future wife to bleed out.” The resentment is replaced, and Karasu’s hands shift into her pockets. “So you’ll kill any person who is blackmailed, regardless of what they are doing to get out from under the thumb of their oppressor.” At the offer of hospitality, one the spellblade can only read as an effort to dismiss her concerns, Karasu whips her hand back and throws the key to the Warrior’s Guild in his face, red-hot from her uncontrolled fires escaping her. “I wish you could dream again, so that Daedria herself could tell you how twisted your morals have become. Tell me, what is the point in being immortal if you have no one and nothing to share it with?”

Kasyr may have been able to master the crux of his emotions during this exchange, but he's not quite able to quell the pang of shame that creeps up during Karasus half of the revelation- that the changeling had, in fact, voiced that ill-fated moment. There's even a semblance of relief, though it gutters out as his once-pupil's ire continues, mingled with the vestiges of days past. "I did you a favor." He let's that hang in the air between them, though perhaps, fine hearing might pick out the murmured, "Both of you." This time, the Kensai does react to her aggression- a flicker of abyssal darkness coiling about his index and middle finger. Enough that when he catches the near fluid shape of the key, it does little save bubble in outrage within his grasp. "She can't serve his will in her -current- condition, can she?" A non-answer, but the best he can offer, even as her ill-temper continues to be stoked. Some morbid part of his mind can't help but study the reaction, picking over the familiar parralels that formed within his own self-contained storms. "The work comes first." His voice is an unwilling croak, some mortal fallability creeping in as a reminder, even as he strives to continue the thought, "That was -always- her wish. Even when nothing else should remain." Even should he be the last one left. His hand twitches, pulverizing the metal into molten shards. "Don't pontificate. You're out of your depths, cherie." There it is, that first spark of something personal to latch onto. His own deeply harboured indignation.

Karasu watches the molten brass drip onto the ground, forming stains in the marble older than she and Quintessa combined. “You’re right, pontificating is not my forte, I’m but a teacup compared to the arrogant teapot that taught me. Instead, I’ll let you know that when I do take up your night, it will be with Quintessa at my side and a bottle of dragon blood lodged in your throat.” The dark ire in Kasyr’s expression is mirrored in Karasu, unable to contain her bitterness towards the revenant as she adds, “You changed. No wonder Satoshi left you.” A step back, and the demifeline vanishes into a puff of black smoke. Unlike the smoke he saw on the battlefield that traveled with her consciousness, this smoke dissipates into the air, leaving only the ill feelings left unspoken still between them both.

Kasyr may have briefly allowed some bitter kernel of fondness to form in the wake of that jab, one which doesn't falter at her promise of a midnight visitation. "I look forward to it. Maybe she'll last longer with you helping." But that humour curdles on the spot, his expression frozen in the wake of the magisters invocation. There is no retort, no witty repartee, just an icy chill that overtakes the heat of her departure. A departure which he soon ascertains to be lasting, leaving him with naught but the desolate acknowledgement, "Tell me something I don't know, next time." A bitter jest, which stirs his feet into motion- a reminder still, that the work need continue, even if the spirit was unwilling.