RP:Saurian Dignitaries

Part of the Sauriangate Arc

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Synopsis: Heavy of heart and tired to the bone, Knight-Commander Lionel reports fresh political crises to Queen Hildegarde. High Priestess Leone soon arrives as well -- and the trio discuss how best to handle not just the upcoming saurian extermination mission to Northern Sage but the plans of one Kreekitaka, Uyeer King...

Frostmaw: Throne Room

Lionel has borne witness -- and indeed, helped orchestrate -- events which have quickly spiraled well out of anticipation. He hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in long enough that he cannot recall. Dark spots beneath his azure eyes openly betray exhaustion. The Knight-Commander is dressed in the formal crimson regalia his assistant Briar had handcrafted for him… a month ago? Or was it two months? He cannot remember, nor is he sure why the memory fleets to the forefront as he makes his way past throne room guards and looks straight ahead at the woman whose counsel and decisive decision he has needed. As he moves briskly past members of the Queen’s Guard, he formulates the words in his tired mind and silently prays to whatever god will listen that he appears reasonably composed despite himself. It hasn’t been an easy week. Hildegarde is before him now; he bows (has he been practicing) and speaks. “Queen.” He’s even a bit… formal? “I’ve urgent matters to discuss. Concerning monsters, concerning the Uyeer King, concerning… Larket. I’m unaware how much of this you know, so if some or all should be old-hat, I apologize.”

Hildegarde has been a ghost within the fort of Frostmaw these past few weeks: hurrying here and there, flitting away in the night to rendezvous and other unknown deeds that had become the whispered gossip of the fort. Her posture on the throne is an odd combination of relaxed but not totally relaxed, as if she could easily shoot up and strike at any who dare to do her harm should it be required. It is perhaps best described as familiarity with the throne carved from ice and steel. At the sight of Lionel, the Silver makes a small gesture - that might have been sharp were it not for its slow and relaxed pace – to silently dismiss the majority of guards who stand sentry in the throne room. “Knight-Commander,” she offers in reply to his greeting, lapsing once more into silence as he delivers his news. ‘Monsters’, ‘Uyeer King’, ‘Larket’. All pressing things, things she is aware of but not so aware of to know the ins and outs of. Her hand lifts to her face to briefly and lightly finger a relatively new cut, as if this somehow aided her ability to think and process the topics Lionel had brought forward. “Proceed.”

Lionel is tired, oh yes, but a lifetime in need of high awareness is enough that he’s noted Hilde’s new cut even as he approaches. His mind might have wandered to the innate humanistic curiosities of what one’s queen might be doing lately if he weren’t so fixated on the task at hand. Straightening his posture from the bow, he shifts his left foot forward and draws a deep breath. “Scouts along the borderlands have made mention of bizarre migrations among saurians for the past several weeks and counting. At first, I admit it didn’t seem a top priority. That was before the incursions. Small hovels and farms throughout the realm have had incident with the beasts from Xalious to Larket. No further east, thankfully, but… that’s still a heck of a thing.” He pauses briefly. When next he’ll speak, his voice is more passionate. “Briar and I fought one just the other day alongside the warrior, Krice. His interest in the ordeal brought him here. I…” He sighs, looking at the queen with resolve tinged in trepidation. Then the passion returns. “Something had to be done. A tremendous influx of saurians has been reported within the Northern Sage Forest. Near the Larketian border. There have been casualties. I’ve heard it said that children’s bones have been scattered.” Sadness flickers in his gaze. “And I know, Hildegarde, that Frostmaw cannot move to the edge of the Usurper-King’s domain until the time is ready. That’s why I’m sending in the Warrior’s Guild. We -can’t- let this continue.”

Hildegarde listens in thoughtful silence, not ignorant of Lionel’s plea. She understands and she sympathises, truly. But her own country is at war. There are political complications here, ones that simply cannot be ignored. Yet her attention drifts as in struts the grey and white cat known as Verity, a vermusni rodent hanging from his mouth. With typical catlike attitude, Verity casts a dismissive glance towards Lionel before strutting over to the throne and promptly hopping up – uninvited – into Hildegarde’s empty lap. He deposits the large rodent there with an expression that’s borderline smug, as his subsequent purrs echo throughout the large throne room. Hildegarde stares at both cat and rodent alike: smug purring predator, innocent rodent who is so clearly faking its death. With a small grunt, the Silver scoops up the rodent into her hands – for it is too big for one hand alone – and swiftly pops the creature between her neck and pauldron where it is safe from Verity. “We cannot let it continue,” she agrees at long last, “nor shall we let it continue. You are free to use the Eyrie to move what and who you must. I shall offer you some Kuronii men to join you, but I cannot spare you my giants,” this is likely for obvious reasons. No one needs Larket mistaking the heroic giants for heinous villains coming to attack the ‘Hard’ City. “I do not think it wise that I be there in the flesh, for reasons that should not need explaining,” she knows Lionel is not a fool. He may have taken knocks to the head, but he had sense. “But I will support this in whatever way I can. You ought to be careful, Lionel. You’re a man of Frostmaw, a Queen’s Man,” she tells him as she at long last rubs behind Verity’s grey ear.

Leone appears from somewhere behind the throne, the sound of grinding stone-on-stone indicating that the farrier has emerged from the War Room. The diminutive woman is practically swimming in her robes, large swathes of black and grey embroidered with silver and blue wrapped around her petite frame like a child in mum's fancy dress. Clutching the layers of folded cowl at her neck with a bandaged hand, the High Priestess makes her way around to the front of the room. Softly padding footfalls come to a halt beside the redhead Queen, and phosphorescent sights mark the Silver with an appraisive once-over, and then immediately swing to survey Lionel. Intently, the blacksmith attends the conversation between Monarch and Commander, her head swiveling back and forth as she places her attention on each speaker during the exchange. "I've offered Lionel and the Warrior's Guild my services, as well," the metallurgist chimes in, "As I've no allegiance to any guild nor clan, there is no conflict on that front. I will not attend the battle; we've decided it would be too much involvement for a council member of Frostmaw to attend in person, but I will be giving them a means of quicker, more direct travel. In and out, as it were." The blacksmith frowns, and fixes Hildegarde with the keen, green stare. "But no matter what transpires, I fear that the knee-jerk reaction will be that the assualt is perpetrated by Frostmaw. We shall have to combat the rumors and prejudice, and allow a representative of the Warrior's Guild unaffiliated with Frostmaw lay claim to the initiative. Perhaps Emrith?"

Lionel is a bit surprised by Verity’s indifference. Cat he may be, but the Catalian has rarely met a cat he didn’t connect with posthaste. An odd quirk for a man like him. Thoughts linger of the years he’d spent with that most strangely named of felines. Villains once trembled at the cry of… Psychedelica. Still, it is clear that this cat has long since chosen his biped. He lingers his gaze on the cat’s hop to Hildegarde’s lap just for a few stray seconds before raising his head to heed the queen’s wisdom. “My thanks, my queen,” he’ll say to her offer of the Eyrie and Kuronii. Nor would he ever deny the rationale behind her lack of presence in the coming hunt. All these things she says, he has indeed calculated. It would be a bright hot war sooner than Frostmaw can afford and in the wrong arena for the fighting if actions are not taken with utter discretion. Still, something about the advice the queen gives at the end of her reply shakes the hero. Although his position here in Frostmaw has only measured in the months, he can no longer imagine ever doubting the choice to follow the Silver. Hearing her label him ‘Queen’s Man’ is almost as stirring as ‘man of Frostmaw.’ Gone is Catal; here for all time, Frostmaw. She might have meant it pragmatically, but the feeling remains. “I will be. We’ll be moving in with Emrith’s fastened cloaks of invisibility and I’ll take it upon myself to ensure my…” he pauses. “...trademark abilities are kept at a minimum. Macon must not know I was there.” Leone’s timing is impeccable. Her own part in this unfolding story was coming up right about now. Who better to tell it than herself? Yet the back half of the renowned High Priestess’ message contains grains of truth he hadn’t yet had luxury to consider. “Damn,” he mutters, nodding gravely. “The High Priestess raises an excellent point.” Another nod. “Yes. Emrith. I agree.” He bites his lip, the speaks further. “There is another matter, Queen. Kreekitaka. Krice reported to me in confidence that the Uyeer King has ambitions to capture and train these saurians. An odd, if troubling, decision I’d label nothing more than mere financial fancy if it weren’t for the rest of the report.” He draws a deep breath. “Hildegarde… Krice has told me Kreekitaka means to conquer Larket. And subjugate it.”

Hildegarde offered a low noise in response to Leone’s warning of rumours and prejudice. It would likely happen, but the dragon had no love for gossip or mistruth. “Emrith is, however, a Knight of the Black Ice. Should this information be discovered, Frostmaw would be implicated either way. Perhaps in a worse way,” she murmured, knowing full well that Emrith could often be regarded as cold and calculating; his suggestions often mirroring that of a knife in the dark rather than a noble knight. “Whatever we do, it will end with a risk. Whatever we do, the side opposing us will speak mistruth. If we go with the banner of the guild held high, perhaps it might help to distance Frostmaw from the guild. Lionel has a reputation as a man of substance, a man who has fought evil wherever it sprouted up. Perhaps Larket might respect that,” she muses aloud, though it is clear a part of her doubts Larket’s ability to respect this fact. Yet with the combined wisdom of Lionel and Leone, the Silver must concede to their point. “Emrith it is. But you must be careful. While the Black Ice is a covert order, it is not exactly a secret,” thanks to some of its more infamous deeds. “Emrith wears an amulet, it is shaped from black ice. If you must contact me from the field and have no time for a letter, the magical properties of the amulet will permit for speedy communication between the mind of myself and the person who wears it,” though this was a method of communication Hildegarde had very little love for. Voices sounded hazy at best. Perhaps it was due to her incredibly thick skull. The news about Kreekitaka, although shocking, does not seem to surprise Hildegarde one bit. “I knew that crab would soon outgrow his shell,” she muttered. To the disdain of Verity, Hildegarde shifts slightly in the throne so as to sit more upright and appear a little more focused on the matter at hand. “Kreekitaka would be in a good position to take Larket unawares. The saurian creatures being a distraction, he could quite easily take them by surprise via the sewers. His people rely on water, he would want to get based near the Vibrance quickly I would imagine,” it is almost as if Hildegarde is imagining what she would do in the stead of the Uyeer. “The Uyeer are large. They are strong, they are hardy. But… they are slow. Speed is their disadvantage,” she comments thoughtfully. “Do you have any intel regarding *why* he wishes to take Larket?”

Leone again attends the conversation in silence, nodding only when the decision to make Emrith head of the initiative is declared. Clearing her throat, once it is again her turn to speak, the priestess makes a wide, sweeping gesture with one hand. "If we wish to take precautions against Emrith's being outed in this regard, I can certainly encase his amulet in glass. But black ice feels and for all intents and purposes looks like glass, anyhow." The detail is a minor one, and instead the cleric's countenance pulls down in consternation. "Kree and his ilk will find no comfort in the vibrance," the farrier insists while shaking her head, "And while I've not been informed of why he's making the grab, I can postulate. Larket is one of many cities that have Fermin tunnels below it. Kree may have discovered these tunnels during his time in Cenril, and now seeks to control one portion of them topside, so that he may use the underbelly. The Fermin tunnels would allow him to move unseen, and at his own pace, between many lands. Larket is in a state of turmoil, unrest, and he is friendly with the Usurper's enemy...an easy target and a move that he can calculate would be supported. He might be counting on Frostmaw to support him in this endeavor, and not reason that his motives might be subversive."

Lionel quickly realizes he ought to be spending more of his scant free minutes more closely researching his closest allies. Hildegarde’s worries over Emrith’s tendencies, however, instantly ring true. Back in the main hall, he’d been the one who offered to slay Kreekitaka wholesale before further information could be gained -- before word had even reached Lionel’s ears that the creature has such plans for Larket. Then again, he muses as the queen continues, it’s not like war is ever a clean concept. The queen mentions banners raised high. The Knight-Commander nods in full agreement. ‘Lionel has a reputation as a man of substance.’ Well, that part was unexpected. “Would that I could totally believe,” he’ll say, gruffly, at her expression of hope Larket will illustrate respect, not revulsion. “But I’ll try.” He smirks. And when she makes mention of the amulet, his brows furrow in consideration. Thoughts flash to artifacts, Ishaarite and Second Immortal. Broadly, they’re never without drawback. At last, the proverbial crustacean in the room can be addressed; it’s the topic Lionel is least enthusiastic to entertain but most agitated to resolve. He cannot suppress a one-two blink at the talk of crabs and shells outlived -- then, something like the faintest snort. Thus, Hildegarde’s words end and Leone’s begin. Lionel maintains a look of regal poise as she discusses her ideas, but quietly, he’s measuring the High Priestess in a more relaxed manner. This is still new, the Knight-Commander and High Priestess in the same room with one-another, and there’s something about her he finds mildly distracting. It will take time to figure that one out. All for later. Leone may have just unlocked the (platinum-crested, no doubt) vault to the crab king’s motives. “Where speed’s their disadvantage, it could be said that speed is sometimes a quality we possess in spades. The High Priestess with her portals, although usage must be limited given the… repercussions.” He glances to her briefly, politely. Thoughtfully. “The innate alacrity of some our own troops. Myself included, really. Still, I hope it doesn’t come to all that. As for purpose, Krice only has suspicions. Kreekitaka is boastful enough to have given much for free, but under the guise that Krice wouldn’t repeat it. Certainly not to us.” He snickers. “Krice believes as I do: the Uyeer take this as a move for profit. Nothing more. I can’t tell you how queasy it makes me to think that some of our modern rivals of the realm see the world as a giant golden coin waiting to be plundered, but I suppose I sleep better on that than beings like Khasad.” He scratches his head. “But what Krice and I believe is, I think, secondary now to the High Priestess’ hypothesis. I’m inclined to agree with her theory -- and that’s unsettling.”

Hildegarde hummed and hawed at the words of both Leone and Lionel. It’s a difficult matter, particularly due to the relationship Kreekitaka had with the knight. He had helped secure her victory in Frostmaw, though it was possible without him; it had simply been a tad easier with his assistance. “Kreekitaka is a money grabber,” she says, stating it as if it were a fact rather than an opinion. “Perhaps we can distract him from Larket with the threat of removing his business rights in Frostmaw? He drops his attack on Larket in exchange for those rights.”

Leone shoves her tongue into her cheek, listening to Lionel and Hildegarde once more, while tapping the tip of the oral muscle against her molars. The farrier grunts in response to the mention of Khasad, and the glittering, peridot eyes encased in her skull linger upon the Knight for several moments. "Perhaps the crab-man seeks to establish control over the black market," the farrier muses aloud, pointing at Hildegarde to underline the statement. "The crab loves money. He also loves fighting. If we remove his trading rights in Frostmaw, or threaten to, then he shall see it as an act of aggression, rather than a policing response. As Lionel has said, he is a braggard - but not a stupid one - and seeks to pull more power and more allies to his stead, to support his cause. If the crab seeks to become the Thief-King of Lithrydel, he's certainly going about it the right way," the blacksmith blathers on, her attention bouncing from the Knight Commander to the Queen, and back again. "I recommend that we play dumb a little while longer, but start setting up precautionary measures to thwart these potential actions. Let's find out who the crab has allied with, who he's working with, and put forces into place to apprehend them. Cut off the operation at the knees, as the cliche goes, but bide our time about it since we aren't certain this is what he intends," the farrier formulates in notes of cinnamon and salt.

Lionel listens intently. Over the next few moments as the women speak of trade blockade, he begins to tense. There’s one more thing he hasn’t yet had occasion to mention -- and all these stately matters may fall to him in mere days. Or hours. His eyes cast downward to the polished floor tiles as they continue, gnawing unease threatening to overwhelm him. “He’s coming here,” he announces. A beat passes as the Catalian draws his eyes up to the priestess and their queen. His voice should work to amply note the man’s apprehensions. “Krice had one last word for me. Kreekitaka, Uyeer King, is coming -here.- To bargain, Krice says. Undoubtedly, to waltz in here full-glamour and declare his intentions to assist in the war with Macon. But Macon’s a pewter playpiece to the crab. Larket itself, a playpiece. Krice urged me to act surprised when Kreekitaka requests an audience. Urged us all. As it stands, I’d like to think we’re one step ahead. It’s a comforting thought.” He pauses. “Whoever treats with him, we’ll be playing the game just as he does.” The voice has changed again; it should be equally apparent this isn’t Lionel’s favorite form of combat.

Hildegarde nodded at Leone’s words. Wise as ever, the priestess was right. “It isn’t a bad thing if Kreekitaka weakens our enemy, but I take no comfort in him doing so. I do not want to swap one enemy for a far smarter one,” she said quietly. “You’d think he’d want Cenril, the port town, to take a real corner in the financial world.” As for treating with the crab and appearing surprised, the Silver grunted once again, this time with audible disdain. She hated acting. It wasn’t her strong suit. “Whatever happens, no one should agree to anything with him. I know neither of you will, but I’m not ready to be strongarmed into an agreement I have no desire to be in.”

Leone nods to Lionel's announcement that the crab-man is coming here. "Krice did tell me last night," she confirms to the Commander, "And we were on our way to meet you - but circumstances changed suddenly. Be assured, both he and I will be here, in attendance, when the Uyeer shows up to help temper and direct the conversation," the farrier reassures Lionel. Another, reaffirming nod is presented to Hildegarde when she insists that no deals be made with the crab. "I agree, though we cannot allow him to think that we've suddenly turned against him. Nor can we afford to look like cowards. A bit of a wink-wink, nudge-nudge needs to go on here, I think. Something that says nothing, and makes no promises, but can be easily hint that we are supportive. Along the lines of "we'd never let a friend's feet get cold" or something equally vague and non-committal."

Lionel can feel a substantial weight lift from tired shoulders the very instant Leone suitably assures him. Tired shoulders. Oh. That’s right. He’s exhausted. It descends upon him, but for a man so prone to the field of battle, he is capable of suppressing it such that only his left leg begins to tremble, subtly. The rest of him, although visibly fatigued, remains all but statuesque. “I promise not to make him any promises,” he tells Hildegarde with the realm’s most lethargic effort at a knowing wink. He really does not sleep before the meeting. “And High Priestess, I assure -you- in return that yours and Krice’s presence will go a long way in making this feel feasible. I’d say I’m in your debt, but you’ve been with this kingdom far longer than I have, no doubt. Let’s just say I appreciate the save.” And then he bows. “Is there anything further, then? I’d best get back to ordering troops to double watch.” He grimaces. “You know, without making it -look- like they’re working double watch.” Oh, acting is for actors.

Hildegarde nodded at Leone’s recommendation. “Very well, then. No hard no’s, but we do not acquiesce to any request of his,” she instructs, “we play the friend card as best we can and keep our war a cold one for now.” As if detecting a weakness, Verity finally alights from Hildegarde’s lap and makes his way over to Lionel where he would promptly rub against his legs in that so feline way of claiming ownership. Perhaps also to try and weaken his trembling legs a little further. Cats are mean. Hildegarde rises from the throne and offers Lionel and Leone a bow alike, “I must depart to the west. Speak to the Kuronii about Larket.”

Leone 's lips furl upward at one corner, a lopsided smirk given to the Knight-Commander. "You mean you'd like to give the troops orders to commence their monthly training exercises, which makes it -look- like we've doubled the guard, but it's really just keeping our men practiced and vigilant," the iron-scented blacksmith gently corrects. She turns after speaking and offers the one-eyed Queen a gentle bow. "It was good to see you," the blacksmith replies, "Cakelog and tea next time." The gesture is transferred to Lionel, perpetrated through her head rather than at the waist. "And I am off to prepare for this meeting," she declares, speaking directly to Lionel, "You'll alert me when Kreekitaka arrives?" The farrier does not wait for confirmation, and instead moves to exit the throne room.

Lionel cants his head in understanding of the queen’s decree even as Verity cants his head in claim. Ah, so he hasn’t lost his touch after all. The leg weakens further; such is the price we pay for animal bond. Leone’s edit of his most recent statements is another surprise boon -- is this High Priestess to be his political savior? Is that the way these things will unfold? As his cheek flushes absentminded red, Lionel is hit with the week’s thirty-seventh revelation: he’ll need to offer this woman his appreciation somehow. Either that or she’s secretly Solaris reborn and they’re all going to die anyway because she’s got enough people wrapped around her occasionally-boiling finger. In which case, oh god, oh god, we’re all going to die. ‘Cakelog and tea.’ The words snap him out of his internal stupor. The devil wears java. “I will, High Priestess,” he says with a smile. Really, she’s probably just a very helpful and wise person. “My queen,” he says, and he swirls around and departs -- but not before rubbing a cat by his ear. It can’t be helped. The man loves cats.