RP:Shoe Return or Thawed Fury

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: The Chilly Knight comes to Fort Freedom to return a stolen boot to Macon, tell him just how brilliant he is for declaring war on Frostmaw, and advise him to watch his back. The Rage Knight, benevolent as he is, grants Jhaelyn the gift of not being homeless anymore in exchange for her service in the battles to come.

Formal Waiting Room

Jhaelyn entered the fort, her chill following along behind her like a faithful puppy dog. She stops within the waiting room, her nose wiggling somewhat like a rabbit, taking in the scents that filled the area and the ones that lingered from beyond. The chairs, couches, and the other fixtures in the room were studied briefly. Mortals. Why were they so obsessed with comfort? They were just going to die anyway. Having finally found out about the angry one's little meeting with Hildegarde, she'd come to find him, and maybe if he's lucky, warn him. Brittle plate boots bring her to the guards, eyeing them both carefully, her cold magic seeping around them, encircling them, "I must speak to..." What was his name? It took her a moment, but she finally remembered. "...Macon." She didn't unsheathe her sword, but merely stood and waited, expecting them to part and allow her to pass. She didn't -want- things to get messy, she wasn't in the mood. But, she would do what she had to do.

Macon is inside the Throne Room, where he passes much of his down time, trespassing where he rightfully doesn’t belong. The Death Knight is slouched down into Jacklin’s seat of power lost in thought. The equally majestic chair beside him is empty as the elderly drow that looks sure to drop dead any moment now stands next to him. The Rage Axe is present with all it’s glory on full display. It stands unnaturally straight up on the edge of its long handle, the glowing red stone embedded in the center of the axe head glaring towards the entrance, which Jhaelyn confronts the guards behind. The pair of guards glance towards each other both before and after looking the freezing elf up and down. “And you are? I cannot allo-” The speaking guardsman is cutoff when the former sheriff pushes the door behind him open, Rage Axe in hand, the aura of Ice and Death has summoned him where the guards refused. “You.” He says with only a bit of surprise in his voice. “Come in.”

Larket Throne Room

Jhaelyn batted her eyes at the guards after it's made known that she's allowed inside. "See? He knows -exactly- who I am." Once they've allowed her to pass, she greets Macon with an almost hungry grin. While her memory was usually useless, she remembered their meeting well. "I've something for you." Her tone was a sing-song one as she allowed him to lead her where he might. The thought that he could lead her into some sort of a trap crossed her mind. With what he had going on in his own time, it was entirely likely. Besides, why would he trust her after she tried to eat him? "I hear you've been busy. You've started a war with the Silver. That doesn't sound like such a good thing to do." She looks around the building as she talks, side-eying him soon after, "Is it worth it?"

Macon, with no traps set or in mind, leads Jhaelyn towards the pair of thrones while listening to her breif summary of what she knows and her questioning decisions that have led Larket to war, stopping just before the ornate seats. He turns to look at the Frozen Elf and catches that side-eye. He sets the axe down in that same impossible standing position beside him, it seems to snap into place like some powerful magnet holds it steady against the hard floor. He ignores the note that she has something for him for now, addressing the more prominent matter before anything else, “Word travels fas’.” He shakes his head, dull, grey eyes wandering over the paintings and such that decorate the Throne Room, “Worth is irreleven’. Larket will not allow itself to be walked over. I insis’ on war, but The Silver and The Paladin have caused it.” The Rage Stone pulses inside its socket and when Macon looks back towards his fellow Death Knight it is clear that his fury is the cause of that reaction.

Jhaelyn purses her lips, nodding along as he speaks as a hand lifts to idly brush some of her hair away from her face. Odd, she actually looked very well groomed now compared to the last time he saw her, though the armor and nearly destroyed sword was the same. "Mmm. The paladin. Yes. He's quite a nuisance and I've yet to meet him." She tilts her head, watching the stone pulsate, though her words were still focused towards Macon, "I know of your...situation...because the clan of mercenaries I belong to have been hired to find evidence to clear the paladin's name. Someone from the clan, a male named Blut, happened upon me not long ago, an hour or so in fact, in the Inn." A frown lines Jhaelyn's lips; concern was not an emotion she showed too often. "I tried telling him that since I've been in this area more that I would take the contract and that he should worry about the patrolling in Xalious and Frostmaw, but he was not to be persuaded." Freezing arms cross one over the other, her attention returning to the human. "You would do well to cover your tracks lest they become your undoing."

Macon averts his gaze once again, though this time it is to avoid the subject of the paladin that he once had in his custody, and who’s release from Larket has set the sequence of events leading to the imminent war into motion. If she knows that the silver dragon was here then surely she knows Kelovath no longer is. It is only after she moves on from the subject of The Golden Knight of Arkhen that he allows himself to look her frozen way again. He is aware of the group of mercenaries that she speaks of, but just how aware he does not let on. His recruitment into that clan of sellswords during his exile from The Hard City is not common knowledge, even to those within its ranks.She is, however, the first to let him in on the knowledge of the investigation surrounding him. “I have been nothing if not careful.” As if to prove this statement preemptively the former sheriff glances around the empty throne room suspiciously before saying it. They are alone save for the ancient looking drow and the Furious Artifact inside his weapon of choice. “I will have someone watching him to make sure he makes no further progress. Has he told you wha’ he’s found so far?” He asks, curious as to what those waiting for him to slip up have against him.

Jhaelyn puts her hands behind her back, seemingly fiddling with something back there. Just what could it be? "He doesn't know much. Someone named Artia, I believe, told him of your abilities. He knows you're a death knight. He didn't say much of what he -did- know. Whatever the Silver told him, I'm sure. He was scrounging around the rest of the clan, like a vulture to a fresh kill." She tilts her head, fixating on the axe again, "He's quite certain that I've chosen your side, though, because I had nothing to tell him. Says that not even Aarika can save me." She snorts softly, "Like there was ever any help for me." The undead shifts the weight of her body from one leg to another. "He also thinks he's going to get more out of me. Said I was 'lucky' because he was allowing me to leave." Jhaelyn had been dwelling on those words of his since she'd left the Red Ogre Inn. She almost wasn't going tell Macon, but that last little bit of snark from Blut was the final nail in the coffin. It started out as spite, but now as she thought about it more, as her own fury grew and made the room cold, she wondered to herself why the paladin and the dragon should win? Finally finishing with what was behind her back, she presents her fellow death knight with his boot, having been untying it from her sword this entire time. "I believe this is yours." The subject of his footwear didn't distract her much from that cold fire of irritation that continued to grow deep within her frozen heart, her features shifting to reflect it.

Macon folds his arms in front of his chest, an act against the cold perhaps. Armor makes the motion slightly more difficult than it should be. The sound of the tarnished metal scraping against itself can be heard while he allows a smirk to cross his lips at the notion that someone might claim to be able to stop this frozen woman from going where she pleased. Arriving in the waiting room when he did probably saved those guards a bit of frostbite, or maybe just bite, after all. “Have you then?” He raises a brow and clarifies, “Chosen my side, that is?” while glancing quickly back at the dual thrones. His breath is visible against the chilled aura she pours into the air. Maybe she answers his question when she presents him with the footwear he left behind frozen in ice during their last encounter, one can never be so sure what such a gesture might imply. Macon extends one hand and accepts the boot, “Indeed…” turns it over in his hand, and wonders why he hadn’t discarded its companion by now, but he’s glad that he didn’t now.

Jhaelyn 's booted feet pivot to face Macon, tilting her head to study him as he clings to himself for warmth. "Should I? These are mortal affairs and I usually keep my nose out of them. And yet..." She pauses, "...despite the fact that you are not of my kind, I wonder perhaps if Revan would judge me for helping you." She'd made no mention of the illusionist before, and really only did so now to herself as she said her thoughts aloud. "The connection with Vakmathras and our mutual hatred for Kelovath would be enough." She calms her mind somewhat, and the frigid temperature starts to warm up a bit. Too often did she forget that most people she associated with, however little that may be, were mortal and could therefore die a very chilly death thanks to her powers. "What's in it for me then, hm?"

Macon is familiar with several of the names inside the circle surrounding The High Priestess of Vakmathras, but the one she mentions, ‘Revan’, eludes his knowledge. When the deceased elf calls these ‘mortal affairs he shakes his head and looks towards the great axe standing at his side, so that he is staring directly into The Rage Stone when he speaks, “The God of Death has chosen me to rule Larket.” The validity of this statement has yet to be made clear, but he says it with such confidence that, at the very least, the former sheriff believes it. “Matters concerning my kingdom are no longer ‘mortal affairs.’” The one arm that was still curled against his chest and not holding onto the returned boot is dropped back to his side unconsciously when the temperature starts to become less harsh. “I offer you nothing…” He pauses, recalling that his unwavering negotiation tactics have coaxed Frostmaw and Larket into a state of war, “Save for Larket’s assistance in the elimination of the Paladins of Arkhen and…” His eyes narrow, finally turning his stare back towards her and away from the Angry Relic, “...Do you have a home?” he asks imagining a frozen abode might stick out like a sore thumb anywhere but The Kingdom of War.

Jhaelyn parted her lips to speak as he was finishing his statement, but she soon stops short as the word 'home' is uttered by the furious one. Golden brows furrow somewhat as she dwells on the word, her face contorting into some odd, mixed look of confusion and sadness. "Home?" Seems he's struck some sort of nerve, though thankfully for him, it wasn't an angry one. There were a few things left in whatever remained in her soul that she secretly longed for. One was a purpose. She seemed to have that now with Revan and whatever his plans were. The second was a home. It was something she never properly had, as she was either out on missions for the Order or staying within the temple when she needed rest. "No. I've no home." She averts her gaze from him, even going so far as to turn her back to him to study the rest of the throne room in an attempt to hide the look that was thoroughly displaying her emotions. "It's probably for the better, I suppose. I don't quite fit in anywhere. I imagine you'd lose your citizens as well if they were forced to live near me." She paused momentarily, staring at the paintings of Jacklin and her husband. "If I did assist you, I'm not sure I'd be much help anyway. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly equipped for battle anymore."

Macon maintains a stoic gaze as Jhaelyn confesses to something he suspected, that she has no home, and to not quite fitting in. When she turns her back to him the former sheriff drops his once-lost boot onto the stone floor before folding his hands behind his back. He walks around her slowly while eying the same paintings she’s fixated on. The Axe slowly drags itself against the ground, eerily following The Fury Knight, keeping that one red eye on him as it moves. He stops so that their positions are reversed from when he first started moving, he’s standing with his back to her now. “You may stay here at the fort until such a time that suitable accommodations in the city can be made.” He says, noting her remark about freezing out other citizens. “And if you pledge to use it to assis’ me in this battle agains’ The Freezing Kingdom, We can see to the restoration or replacement of your equipment.” He spins back around quickly, almost seeming to startle the Rage Axe, which flinches backwards slightly, “What do you say, Knight?”

Jhaelyn didn't look at him as he circled around her, the sight of Jacklin holding her line of sight for now. It's only until he offers his terms and stops behind her that she throws a brief glance over her shoulder in his direction. "I would do as you ask, O' Furious One. A home, a place that is not beneath a different tree in Sage Forest every night, would be welcome and easy to come by, I'm sure. The armor and weapon, however, is a different matter. They will need to be restored or replaced by someone with a knowledge of such bitter cold and necromantic powers. Vailkrin would certainly be the place for the latter, but the very region you are now at war with is the only one of whom might be able to help with the frost and that is a place that I cannot go. I'm sure you'd be able to figure something out, though." Speaking of which, a thought dawns on her, "With regards to Frostmaw also, let Hildegarde bring the fight to you here. Even if I dared set foot in Frostmaw again, my magic would be of no use there. I shall have to do a bit of research on the necromantic side of my abilities. I've never once used them. Might I make myself useful in your cemetery? I'll be sure to put back whatever I dig up."

Macon hears Jhaelyn’s concerns over the difficulty in properly equipping her and nods several times as she lays out the obstacles in the way of such a task. “I will do wha’ I can. I have seen your power firsthand and will find one that can work within its bounds.” He looks towards his mute drow servant when he says this, silently instructing him to get the wheels in motion on this. “Though I’d also think you might be at least -capable- in a fight without the weapon and armor.” He says, remembering she hadn’t needed a sword to nearly freeze his leg off in Sage. In response to her strategic advice in the War on Winter, “I have no intention of invading Frostmaw outright.” He says, kind of cutting her off, “There is nothing I desire there. We will not be fighting in the snow. At leas’ not to start.” He continues onto the subject of the cemetery, “There are several drow Vakmathras worshipers operating inside the cemetery already. You have my permission to practice your abilities there, but you mus’ give me a day to get word out to the guard that you are not to be hindered. They are on alert after some recent grave robbings… And!” he shouts out, remembering one more key detail, “You must not revive the High Priest of Cyris buried there.”

Jhaelyn blinks at his shouting, a slender brow raised. Well, now she -had- to find out about this dead priest at some point. "Yes, alright. You don't have to yell at me. Besides, what's some silly old priest going to do, anyway? You and I are powerful enough to take him down. He'd be under -my- control anyway. I'm new at this, but I'm not imcompetent." She took a little offense by the implications she herself made, but she merely shook her head, "Do what you need to do and let me know then." She finally spins about to face him, "If you manage to get me killed, however, you'd find yourself lumped into the same boat as the paladins. I will claw my way out of Hell just to come back and eat you while you still lived." While it seemed like a joke, it was clear she wasn't poking fun at him, her tone making that quite obvious. Looking towards the exit briefly, she nods her head in that direction, "Where am I to stay at here? I don't frequent buildings much and this one least of all."

Macon ignores what she says about not having to yell and responds to his concern over the priest, “ I already have taken him down once. You said so yourself tha’ I should cover my tracks. The High Priest is a track. Leave him dead.” Again his expression is flat, indicating his seriousness about not resurrecting Laedavere. “I’ll be sure to die before you if it comes to tha’ then… to save you some clawing.” Her threat is waved off with that sarcastic comment and he starts to move towards the door they had entered the Throne Room through, his hands releasing each other behind his back so he can move into a full stride. The Rage Axe also takes this opportunity to release itself from its position stuck to the ground. Jhaelyn might need to dodge the furious weapon as it rotates through the air, flying towards The Rage Knight, the handle attaching itself parallel to his back with a strong impact, the axe head down just below his hip, with the entire weapon tilted at an angle. Again some unseen force holds it in place against the former councilman, with no straps or holsters in sight to keep it where it stays. “Come.” He says. “For now you’ll have an officer’s room.” and leads the way into the fort, the pair likely parting guards with auras of anger and ice alike.