RP:Return of the Gigi, The Rage King Strikes Back

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Throughout Josleen's imprisonment/stay at the fort, Thronnel has been in hot pursuit of Gigi, the purebred poodle and favorite son of Thane Josleen. He delivers the dog smelly and unkempt in a cage which angers Josleen. The pair exchange harsh words, and after being provoked, Thronnel burns Josleen's wrist. Guards intervene and bring Thronnel and Josleen to Macon, who is training in the courtyard.

Thronnel gets lippy, which angers the King, but when the Rage Knight sees Josleen's burnt wrist he loses all composure and orders everyone, including Josleen, out of the room. The King then turns on Thronnel, beating him back into his place, so to speak. After the king leaves, Thronnel places a curse on Macon's armor.

Fort Sick Bay

Josleen has been a 'guest' of Macon's for over a week now. Although Thronnel hasn't been around for most of it, he may notice a few peculiar things right off the bat. The fort wait staff don't treat or speak of Josleen like a prisoner. The Thane volunteers at the fort infirmary. In fact, Thronnel will be directed there to meet her. She's dressed in a fine silk dress beneath a nurse's apron. Yet, although she seems to be afforable a great deal, the thane's ever-present smile seems dim. Something weighs on her shoulders and spirit, but not in the same vain or degree to which she suffered in the hotel in Cenril. The Thane applies salve to an old man's weathered back as she casually asks him about his granddaughters. "Oh the one who plays flute, Maddie, right?" "Hmm." "Oh the dear!" "Must have made you proud" and so forth.

Thronnel had been meaning to speak to Macon about Josleen's treatment. It was one thing to treat a prisoner humanely, it was quite another to give them fine food and clothes, and more perplexingly, freedom. But that would wait for another day. For now, he had a delivery to make. He walked into the infirmary, carrying a cage. Within the cage was a dog that Josleen would recognize immediately. Gigi certainly recognized her. He began to bark and bounce around within the cage, causing Thronnel to nearly lose his balance. With a sigh, he placed the cage on the ground. "Thane," he called.

Josleen recognizes Gigi's yapping like a mother recognizes her baby's cry. "Gigi!" she gasps. She sets the salva down and excuses herself from her patient. She sprints over to Thronnel but ignores him, pointedly so (the animosity is mutual and persists), and crouches before the cage to force it open. "Gigi!" The dog jumps onto the Thane's lap and tries to lick her face which Josleen deftly avoids while still embracing her poodle (she isn't one of -those- dog owners who relish the tongue bath, not at all). "Oh you smell terrible! And your fur! You need a trim. Oh, Gigi..." she coos at the sorry state (he's fine) of her proud pup. Finally remembering Thronnel she glares at him. "Why was he in a cage?"

Thronnel watched the reunion in silence, rolling his eyes at Josleen's question. "Well, he was hardly going to follow me on a leash. And he kept trying to bite me. A cage seemed more reasonable than putting him into a coma."

"Gigi doesn't bite. But I can see why he'd make an exception for you." Josleen eyes Thronnel coldly. "If that is all, you may go," she says as she turns her back to the dismissed lackey. Then she remembers something and says, "Actually, if you could find the fort dog keeper I will forgive the transgression with the cage."

Thronnel glared at Josleen. "And why should I do anything you ask? Will you tell Macon on me if I don't? Go right ahead. I am no servant." Even if Macon was expending a lot of energy changing the mind of this girl he should have put to death a long time ago... Thronnel really couldn't fathom the king's reasoning. He would have to speak with him later. "You can do nothing but hide behind others. You have no power that was not given to you. Take away your truly powerful friends and you have nothing."

Josleen looks up from Gigi to snarl at Thronnel. His smarmy face makes the bile rise in the Thane. She stands full height (fury making her appear taller than her 5' 2") and squares her shoulders, eyes narrowing on the....??? "What exactly is your role here? The closest I can reckon is you're a fly in my ointment." They're drawing stares from patients and nurses alike. Josleen draws in close, invading Thronnel's personal space as if daring him to strike her. She whispers, her face so close that he can see her pearly teeth brandished like weapons gripped in a smile. "If I have no power then why are you afraid to touch me, but I'm not afraid to touch you?" She pats his cheek twice like 'there there, boy' (unless he stops her). " I don't care what your job is. Pass on my message to someone who can help me and stay out of my line of sight."

Thronnel grabbed Josleen's wrist, his hand growing hotter and hotter with his fire magic. Unless Josleen could pull her wrist free, she'd end up with some nice first-degree burns. "My role is that of friend and advisor. I crowned him, you know." Just when those burns would officially worsen into second-degree, he'd release her. His hand would be enguled in flames and he would hold it to her face, as close as he could get without searingher flesh off. "Consider that a warning, girl. Macon is your only protection from me, and the moment you stop being useful to us, you can bet I will return to teach you your place."

Josleen grits her teeth in pain and tries to wrestle out of Thronnel's flaming grip, but fails to escape the burn or his superior strength. He's right that physically he out boxes her. Tears sting her eyes and she cries out in pain (and surprise). But those tears don't spill and she doesn't wail, but instead growls deep and low. The fire ignites the kindling of rage that Macon has unwittingly infected the bard (and others) with. Where normally she would escape and flee, this time the Thane, when released, aims to slap Thronnel hard across the face. She doesn't scream but the nurses do ("STOP!! Someone help!") They send for guards to break up the fight. There's a hint of panic and worry for Thronnel in the faces of nurses and guards alike. The guards break up the fight, but don't dare touch Josleen beyond a gentle guidance away from Thronnel. The most senior guard present (not very senior at all) grimaces as he says to Thronnel. "We need to take this to the King immediately. You need to come with us, so does she. Just...." The guard thinks better of it and shakes his head.

Thronnel, too, felt the rage that pervaded the fortress, and when Josleen slapped him, he growled and fire sprang to his other hand. He would have burned her to a crisp, then and there, if the the soldiers hadn't intervened. He growled at the senior guard, "Indeed. He cannot continue to let his prisoner, the woman who helped that murderer Khamsin, have the run of the fort!" Thronnel couldn't believe how quickly Josleen's transgressions against Larket had been forgotten by these people. What was Macon doing?

The two guards who haven't spoken look at each other when Thronnel describes Josleen as a prisoner. The third and final guard, the one who speaks, says in a low voice to Thronnel " Things have changed." But he does not elaborate further because he cannot. He doesn't understand what Josleen's status is anymore other than 'untouchable'. Josleen removes her apron and cradles her blistering red wrist against her middle. Gigi, who had been barking and snarling, whines for attention and Josleen asks a nurse to keep an eye on Gigi in the infirmary. "Stay, boy." The bard follows the men to wherever Macon is now. She stays as far away from Thronnel as possible and doesn't look at him. Her cheek is red too, not quite burnt but clearly affected. Her eyes glisten as she bites back the pain. But aside from her injuries and pain, she looks a little pleased. She holds her chin high, clearly expecting this will go in her favor.

Fort Freedom Courtyard

The King is in some out of the way courtyard inside the walls of Fort Freedom for one of his personal combat training sessions. Even as a councilman, the former sheriff had kept himself sharp. The Rage Axe and that armor are not for show as he has demonstrated. Soon after he was crowned King there arose an issue with timid Larket guards pulling their punches during their sparring with the newly minted royalty. This problem was quickly quashed after a few sustained broken arms, noses, and kneecaps lent evidence that going easy on The Rage Knight is more dangerous than actually landing a blow on The King of Larket. The furious aura the man now puts out passively also serves to assure a strong showing from his sparring partners. By the time Thronnel and The Thane are announced things are already winding down after a heated session. The King has his chest plate and other upper body armor removed, exposing the chain mail beneath, his brown hair is matted down with sweat and he is sporting a new bruise at his right cheekbone. He is leaning against the Rage Axe like a walking staff in his right hand while he drinks from a cup of water in the other. “Wha’ is this?” he growls out to no one in particular while still catching his breath.

"I should be asking you that!" Thronnel snapped. He was livid. He couldn't believe his ears when they'd said things had "changed." Was Josleen not a prisoner? Why wasn't he informed? What was he playing at? He had been fuming the entire way over, and now he was ready to scream, or maybe set something on fire. "Have I not done everything you've asked? Why, then, are you keeping things from me? Why are you giving an enemy of Larket special treatment?"

For the first time since the infirmary, Josleen looks at Thronnel. His tone leaves her speechless. How dare he address the King in this way? Anger and disbelief fight for real estate on her face. She says nothing--Macon can handle this. If Macon looks over at her she'll lift her burnt wrist indicatively and nod her head towards Thronnel. This jackwit.

Macon tilts his head slightly at Thronnel’s initial outburst and gives him a long bit of side eye like, ‘are you sure that's how you want to start this conversation?’ That furious aura borrowed from the Rage Stone flares up and provokes one of the King’s sparring partners to stand up for him to obtain brownie points. “This is the King of Larket, s-...” huge mistake. The Rage Knight turns on the armored young man, gritting his teeth and glaring harder than anyone present has seen him glare before.

“-Leave!-” it is a roar, almost too feral to even make out the single word it contains. The trainers and the guards that brought the quarreling Thane and Warlock obey quickly but not quickly enough to avoid hearing the front end of what Macon says next while bearing down on Thronnel, “Keepin’ thi-... When did you ev-...” his rage so far outmatches the warlock’s that he can't even get a full thought out… then he finally looks Josleen’s way and peeps the burns. The Rage Axe is released and it falls to the soft ground with a thud. The King’s freed up hand grabs at Thronnel's shirt near the collar and yanks him in, “We are war because-... Get out!” once again he can't finish a full sentence before moving onto another thought. This one is directed angrily towards Josleen and growled at her over Thronnel’s shoulder. He does not want the bard here for this ‘chat’.

Josleen startles when Macon shouts the first time, but stays put. His rage scares her and thrills her in equal parts. Where normally she'd want to deescalate, now her rage has her cheering the King on. However, when the King turns on her and shouts at her to leave, her mood quickly flips. Her back stiffens and she turns sharply away from the King, giving him a sidelong glare as she turns. Brisk steps take her out of the courtyard, into a hallway, and far down its length. The rage comingles with embarrassment and she refuses to look at any guard.

Thronnel stared at Macon in utter disbelief. and then Macon's manhandling him. He grunted and grabbed the king's wrist, but knew better than to attempt to give him the same treatment he gave Josleen. "Release me."

Macon catches that looks he gets from Josleen, but must ignore it for now as she leaves and he is left alone with Thronnel. Again the king tilts his head questioningly at the warlock when he places his hand over his wrist. His first consideration is a headbutt, but somehow decides against it before shoving his coronator. Whether Thronnel goes down or simply is forced a few steps backwards, Macon immediately begins to stalk in a semicircle around the warlock. He starts again, still fuming and growling, “We are at war because Hildegarde believes we mistreated a useless Frost Giant we were holding prisoner! I am this close,” he pinches his thumb and forefinger together and shakes his hand towards the man he shares the courtyard with, “to peace and you come questioning me. -Questioning me!?-” Another pulse of furious aura radiates from the king and those inside the fort might be forgiven for thinking that the Rage Stone itself has somehow returned to Larket. “And you do this?!” he points to the space Josleen has since vacated. “When the dragon comes maybe I should send you out alone to meet her!”

Thronnel grunted when he hit the ground, but was back on his feet instantly. He dusted himself off and glared at Macon. "You haven't told me a damn thing about what's going on. I've been chasing down that damned dog in Cenril, like you ordered, and I come back to find that Josleen is no longer considered a prisoner? What else has changed? Are you going to give Khamsin a seat on the council next?"

Macon, from his figurative seat on Larket’s Throne sees no need to explain himself even to one of his closest allies. He does however start to give the very Royal answer of, “She is not considered a prisoner any longer because -I- have decided that.” Then… Kelovath is invoked… The King flinches and opens his left hand, extending it towards the fallen rage axe reflexively as if it were about to spring to life and fly to his open palm. Without The Rage Stone embedded, it cannot, and it does not. Macon growls in frustration and charges with a cocked fist for a punch to Thronnel’s nose instead.

Thronnel was not one for close quarters combat, and had only half-conjured a shield for himself when Macon's fist connected, shattering his nose and rocking his head back. Thronnel hit the ground again, clutching his face and groaning. Blood poured from the wound, and he couldn't manage the incantation to heal it. He was too rattled by the blow. She managed to sit up and looked at Macon, anger at this betrayal plain on his face.

Macon flexes all of his fingers after that blow connects, knuckles cracking as the catharsis of landing a sweet punch washes over him. Slowly he chases down the warlock to stand over him, only the slightest hint of instant regret tugging at his furious expression after laying out someone who had been at his side for so long. He points down at Thronnel with one finger, “Don' ever say tha’ name to me like tha’ again… and if this Kingdom doesn' get smashed into the ground for what you've done, you will never come at me about a decision I have made for Larket like you have t’day. I am The King.” He says those last words slowly so that the warlock will remember them, before stomping off in the direction Josleen left. Top half of his armor and The Rage Axe are left behind.

Josleen waits for Macon at the far end of the hall with line of sight on all who come and go from the courtyard. She sees Macon first but says nothing, waiting for him to see her to his left, and for him to come to -her-. Her expression is severe, but no longer angry. She holds his gaze steadily.

While Macon was gone, Thronnel managed to stagger to his feet. He looked in the direction Macon left in, then at the equipment left lying uattended. He looked around the courtyard. No one was about. He stumbled over to the armor and knelt by it. He put his non-bloodied hand to it and began to whisper an incantation. He poured his magic and ill intent into the metal, weaving a spell to slowly sap the strength of any who wore it, so slowly that one might mistake it for regular fatigue. His eyes went to the axe, but that he left alone. It may have been an ordinary axe without the Rage Stone... or it might not. He was already taking a risk cursing the armor. He stood up and looked around again. Still no witnesses. He put his bloodied hand to his nose and mumbled another incantation, one of healing, to set the injury right again.

Macon stares down the long hall at Josleen, his expression stone while fury still picks and prods at him. He wonders if she heard or saw any of what went down in the courtyard, but as he approaches he does not ask or try to read it in her mood. His forehead is gritty with dried sweat and well… he is a little bit funky after that training session and attempt at putting Thronnel in his place. Once he is close enough he takes her wrists roughly in his hands and stares down at them examining the damage. He growls as usual and says nothing. ‘Go to the infirmary.’ is implied, but surely she was planning to do that anyway.

Josleen doesn't mind the sweat (under other different circumstances she might even like it, in fact she did when she first walked into the courtyard), nor does she flinch when he grabs her. But his demeanor with her screws in her chest in a way she did not expect. That embarrassment and humiliation return and mix with her own fury at being embarrassed this way. She pulls her hand free and without saying a word steps forward past Macon. If Thronnel left the courtyard now he'd see Josleen and Macon far down the hall, Josleen walking towards him, her hand slipping out of Macon's grip (unless he holds on) and her lips fighting a frown she doesn't want Macon to see.