RP:Shadows of Redemption
Part of the Once Upon a Midnight Dreary Arc
Summary: After being striped of her lands and titles Quintessa begins to seek aid from her former allies during her time as Countess of the Dark Forest. The first of these allies is the Rage King Macon of Larket, who has more to offer Quintessa than she originally accounted for.
Larket Throne Room
Stretching out before you is an elaborate, elegantly built throne room for the leaders of Larket. The floors are built of the same marble that spreads through the entire castle, polished, but still showing the wear of several years worth of foot traffic across its face. Tiered benches line the right and left side of the room. Each bench end is ornately carved with the symbol of Larket – the Lark and a spear. From the rafters an enormous flag of Larket is hung like a tapestry. The rich, bold purple pops against the pale stone. The walls of the throne room are covered with paintings, and other artifacts of the city-state. The northern wall bears a row of paintings of the past leaders of Larket with their names scrawled beneath each. Directly across from the entrance at the end of a long passageway stand a pair of thrones. Behind the elaborate chairs are high arched stained glass windows refracting the sun in shades of purple, blue, gold, green, and orange. At the center of the stained glass artwork is the seal of Larket. Beneath the seal are the simple words ‘Fighting Freedom’ in red glass. The thrones themselves are both sculpted from magnificent red oak and seated atop a small dais. The thrones' arms are silkily curved and the ends drop off into the shape of a Lark’s head. Supple, downy purple cushions provide comfort and support for both the backs and seats of the thrones.
Quintessa was quick to find time to reach out to her allies, especially those like King Macon. Though the changeling’s dealings with Larket had mostly been clandestine, involving secret ledgers and shell companies owned by Quintessa- now the changeling had lost her seat of power. Still, the former Countess of the Dark Forest retained some of her influence; She was still a powerful spellcaster and a shrewd merchant and many still flocked under her banner. After forming a small entourage and crossing the border into the Kingdom of Larket, Quintessa had sent a missive and requested a formal audience with the King and after some back and forth she was finally invited to the castle. She arrives alone, waiting patiently and entering the throne room once being called upon, dressed in fine spider-silk fabrics of black and green, her long, summer gown embroidered with the crest of House Blackwell. Unlike the last time when she came as a countess petitioning for a trade agreement, today she comes as a mere merchant courtier, a diplomat here to pay homage to the King of Larket. “Your Grace,” Quintessa curtsies after she approaches the throne, her wavy, black hair falling into her face as she bows her head. “Thank you for seeing me today.” She slowly stands up straight, mismatched eyes scanning the room, appraising the Kingsguard first and then the throne Macon sat upon. When she finally looks back at the king she focuses on his crown first before meeting his gaze. “I’m sure you have heard the news from Vailkrin. I have been betrayed and cast out by the Usurper Kasyr Azakhaer…” She pauses to allow what she was saying to sink in, that she was openly denouncing the newly crowned King of Vailkrin. “And we have much to discuss regarding the matter.”
Macon sits in what was once Jacklin’s throne, clad in the silvery Rage Armor sans gauntlets and helmet, the latter’s position occupied by Larket’s heavy marble crown. The larger throne to the king’s side is vacant, but between the two seats of power, in a central position, stands The Rage Axe, perfectly perpendicular to the floor, the faintly glowing red stone embedded in the center of the ax head, staring down at Quintessa, an unblinking, scrutinizing, irritating eye. Only two members of the Larketian Kingsguard are present, away from the dais, one on either side of the room; north and south. The heavy set mage, Wendell in his Academy robes emblazoned with the symbol of the Royal Guard, and the elven woman, Rava, in sleek dark attire bearing the same emblem under which hidden weapons abound. Macon and Wendell acknowledge Quintessa with nods while the other Larketian remains still, tense. “Of course.” The king speaks in his typical low growl, “I should tell you that Kasyr Azakhaer is currently a contributor to The Larketian Academy of Magics and We do not have much desire to get in the middle of a feud between you and he. We would prefer to remain on good terms with each of you. I see no reason that shouldn’t be possible. Of course, Vailkrin and its current leadership have no jurisdiction here.” He shifts in his seat, dipping his left shoulder to find a more comfortable, relaxed position, “That being said, We’ll hear what you have to say.”
Quintessa nods once, a simple acknowledgement of the King’s desires regarding the feud between Kasyr and Quintessa. “Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she takes a half-step back as she folds her hands behind her back, “I will not interfere with his contributions- so long as they do not pose a threat to me or my allies.” Her tone indicates while she may not directly stifle Kasyr’s contributions she was likely going to be watching him. “My vendettas are my own and while I *am* a vengeful woman it is not yet time to sow those seeds. I cannot feud against House Azakhaer unless I rebuild first.” She pauses, inhaling slowly as she tries to recall logistic information. “I have around 200 people loyal to House Blackwell camped on the edge of the Sage Forest. My men-at-arms, spider-riders, and vampire guard plus any family they had. I have also extracted my vast fortune and wealth of knowledge that I had hoarded within the walls of Castle Blackwell. What I mean to say is that I have a lot to offer the Kingdom of Larket… but I’m not entirely sure what Larket has to offer me in exchange.”
Macon smiles as Quintessa describes herself as a vengeful woman. He ponders for a moment, slate eyes twinkling just a bit at the changeling’s list of manpower and perks that she could offer Larket. The fingers of his left hand lift to brush lightly at the hairs of his brown, gray flecked beard. “You can rest assured that you and your people will be under the protection of Larket while within our borders.” That wasn’t part of his upcoming offer, just a statement of fact that foreign powers will not be allowed to operate with impunity against anyone within Larketian territory. Macon and Macon alone has that right here. “I can offer you a place to rebuild… within The Eternal Forest there is an already constructed barracks,” really it is a dormitory at best, “that can serve you and your…” he searches for the correct word for a second or two and finally just decides to not beat around the bush, “...forces immediately.” Land, protection, shelter. These are all well and good, but now the Larketian King means to wave what might be the most intriguing thing he can offer from his position. “Then there is the divine strength and power that can only be found here, in The Kingdom of The Lord of Death, that you have yet to tap into yourself due to your… previous choice of patronage.” The butt of The Rage Axe clicks and clatters against the stone floor as the entire weapon shakes violently, the stone within its head burning brightly now in a display of such power as was just alluded to, the infuriating aura surging throughout the Throne Room and the fort as a whole.
Quintessa feels a sense of relief wash over her when Macan declares her and her people under the protection of the Larketian crown. She understands that it is a power-play, a show of strength that such a controversial figure such as Quintessa Blackwell was unreachable by her enemies here, a play she will allow Macon to fulfill enthusiastically. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she bows her head again demonstrating her thankfulness, but when he offers her a place in Larket- in the Eternal Forest no less, her mouth almost drops open in surprise. She is about to thank him again, but the next offer that comes from the Rage King is one that has a sobering effect on the changeling. Her mismatched eyes fill with wonder, the gears turning in her head- gears that grind to a halt when the encompassing waves of wroth hit Quintessa like a tidal wave. She doesn’t realize that she’s clenching her fist so hard her sharpened fingernails are cutting into her own skin when she parts her lips to speak again. “Yes,” her voice is cold and emotionless, an icy hatred that she had been keeping under the surface now made unable to conceal, even with effort. “I must repent for my actions and seek atonement. The Lord of Death has been very patient with me for a reason, perhaps it is time I figure out why. Perhaps Vakmatharas will find my quest of retribution a worthy one. I-” She finally looks down at her hand, watching the blood drip from her fingertips as she stops clenching. “I want to speak with the priests and priestesses. I have much to learn about the One and Only True God of Death.”
Macon smirks, proud of the wealth of resources (and temptations) that his kingdom can offer. He nods along with her thanks and her affirmation. Wendell seems unaffected by the waves of Rage Aura pumping out of the Rage Stone, calmly observing the blood being drawn from Quintessa’s palm, but Rava is less stoic now, her left hand snaking behind her back at her hip, making it fairly obvious, probably purposely so, that she’s preparing a weapon just in case. “This is where you will be allowed to find redemption. Perhaps the only place, given how the other powers of Lithrydel choose to operate. We will arrange for you to meet with whomever you like. The God of Death will embrace you, I’m sure.” He says in his practiced, fake Larketian accent; a performative bit of zealotry that he has embraced since his son and the other children of Larket were released from the rapid aging curse. Of course there is one follower of Vakmatharas currently stationed in Larket at The Academy of Magics that he’s sure Quintessa will not like to speak with regarding The God of Death, one Kaaname Tsuji… Honestly it might be best if Lady Blackwell stayed away from Larket’s Magical University completely for the time being… The Furious King sits back up in his seat of power and nods again, “If this is agreeable, I can dispatch a platoon to retrieve your people from Sage and escort you to the barracks in the forest, so that you may survey the area and make any requests to make your stay here more comfortable…”
Quintessa nods again, once, a show of affirmation. “Yes. I swear that you will not regret this decision- I will make the rest of Lithrydel regret turning their backs on me instead. I will head to Camp Forlorn forthwith and make my preparations. Expect a raven from me within a fortnight to request that escort platoon you’ve offered.” Her mismatched eyes flash to Wendell first and then Rava, watching as she struggles with her instinct to ready her weapon. “Once I find a suitable location I will arrange a deal with the mason guilds- Larketian stone placed by Larketian builders. This relationship will be prosperous for us both… Now, if that is all, Your Grace?” She waits to be dismissed before she turns to leave, but she hesitates for a moment and turns back to face the King of Rage. “Oh, there is one more thing, Your Grace. I met a hedge knight the other day- a man of little significance I’m sure, but what he said caught my attention.” She pauses for a moment just to build dramatic suspense, “I think his name was “Ser Pars” and he said he left something in Larket, something he intended on getting back. Do with this information as you choose, but I thought it would be something you’d want to be made aware of.”
Macon ’s slate eyes follow Quintessa’s glances at the two kingsguard. Another wry smile passes his lips as he sees Rava struggling to compose herself in the presence of his enraging artifact. The King reassures the changeling that all the logistics will be worked out in a timely manner when she sends her message, then as she’s leaving she drops her bomb. There’s a brief moment where, as much as he’s trained himself to be unreadable (he’s fooled an entire kingdom into thinking he’s the hero that cured the fermin plague afterall), there is a look of confusion followed by panic where the color drains from his face. Just as quickly as it left, his composure returns, but for that moment it was painfully visible. He calculates what her words mean and just as much as he returns to his emotional masking resting state, so too does he truly find no worry in what this revelation means, “The former King Consort?” He makes sure to emphasize that this is Josleen’s predecessor, not his own. “I though’ he was d-...” The Veratoakan accent breaks through, “Incredible news if it is truly ‘im. If you ‘appen to run across that knigh’ again, do tell ‘im ‘e’s welcome ‘ere anytime. I’d like t’see this for myself.” With that Quintess is truly dismissed shortly after and there will be just a bit of scrambling within the fort this night to confirm the veracity of her Hedge Knight claim…
Quintessa shrugs, doing her best to hide her amused smirk, finding humor in the fact that she got to take a glimpse of the man behind the Larketian stone mask. “It’s hard to say,” she confesses, truthfully not knowing who Parsithius really was or is and couldn’t recognize him despite sharing a cup of tea with him. Quintessa decides to conveniently leave out the fact that she invited this knight to travel with her entourage into the city. “All I know is that this man certainly wasn’t dead. He also claimed to be the half-brother of the infamous pirate Leoxander- but small men do like to tell tales. He could be a charlatan trying to find clout in the most dangerous ways. Posing at the former King Consort? He must either be very brave or very foolish indeed. Well, Your Grace, I leave you to it.” Quintessa bows one last time, turning and letting the shadow magic stored in her boots consume her form and whisk her away. “If I see him again,” her voice echoes from the umbral darkness, “I’ll let him know you’re excited to see him. Goodbye~” And with a loud pop of her shadow-portal snapping shut, Quintessa Blackwell is gone.