RP:Tainted Love
Part of the Once Upon a Midnight Dreary Arc
Summary: Quintessa and Karasu discuss the former countess's sudden change of priorities, doubting the sanity of Quintessa's decision to forgive the man who nearly killed her in the Dark Forest.
Camp Forlorn
Placed among the outskirts of the enchanting embrace of the Sage Forest, far removed from the echoes of the ancient stronghold of Castle Blackwell, lies Camp Forlorn—a haven governed by the resolute spirit of Quintessa Blackwell, the fallen countess. Already a community emerges here, united by the shared purpose of reclaiming their ancestral home and forging a new destiny. Military pavilions stand with an air of quiet authority, standing resolute, weathered canvas flapping defiantly in the winds. Each pavilion, though weathered and battle-scarred, houses warriors and allies who share Quintessa's thirst for retribution. Banners bearing the Blackwell crest, a snake coiled around a skull trapped in thorny, flowering vines, flutter proudly, their presence a symbol of unwavering allegiance to their fallen leader. The air in Camp Forlorn simmers with a vengeful fervor. The inhabitants, once sworn to the fallen Countess, now harbor an unwavering determination to reclaim their lost dominion. Clad in tattered battle attire, they exude an aura of defiant strength, their eyes gleaming with a resolute fire. The camp reverberates with whispered plans and murmurs of strategy, as alliances are forged and loyalties solidified, all in preparation for the impending storm of vengeance. Amidst the war-torn canvas of the pavilions, makeshift armories and training grounds emerge. The clanging of swords and the crackle of spellcasting reverberating through the camp, serving as a constant reminder of the imminent clash that lies ahead.
Quintessa had been in the War Tent all afternoon, orders to delay any further plans confusing some of the more zealous supporters of her claims over the Dark Forest but still leaving her alone to ponder what had been laid out. The war council had been dismissed, murmurs of Quintessa’s sudden change in attitude reaching even the most humble camp follower as some voiced their discontent and others their relief. Their future seemed uncertain already and Quintessa was adding to those concerns. Alone in the tent, the former Countess of the Dark Forest rolls up her maps and puts away wooden figure pieces, setting aside her bloody ambitions. None of this would be necessary now; Quintessa sought a different path, but would Karasu agree with this shift in priorities? Surely word would have reached her by now, leaving the changeling to glance back at the entrance of the tent every once in a while as she cleans up, expecting her partner to barge in but not quite sure what mood she’ll be in when she arrives. Quintessa isn’t worried, however, she believes she can handle this diplomatically no matter how Karasu receives the rumors of ‘Quintessa’s change of heart’.
Karasu || The rebuilding efforts have been long and arduous, but so have been the efforts of Karasu’s training since she was old enough to hold a wand. Seated in a special chair fitted with large wheels, the former spellblade has taken up refuge under a large hemlock tree. With a necromantic tome propped open in her lap, the woman looks a bit bored as she flits her fingers up and down like a puppeteer. A few feet away from her are the bones of a shrew, disjointedly and clumsily jolting up and down as though it were having a seizure. Slowing down her movements, she curls in her index finger, and the skeletal arm of the shrew spins out of control and into the side of her lover’s war tent. She has been here in secret since Quintessa first holed herself up in the tent, using her feline hearing to listen to the goings on. She had heard the dismissals, she had heard the way Quintessa’s tone had softened lately, and of course she heard the rumors of her rendezvous. Perhaps what was most unsettling of all to the hired help was the way Karasu had not seemed to react to any of this. In the weeks since their arrival in Sage, she had become completely intolerant of any signs of doubt or misgivings in their plans, making this relatively out of character. With her toy now broken, Karasu closes her hand into a fist, and the bones shatter across the grassy expanse. Closing her book, she moves her chair closer to the tent. Karasu could also hear Quintessa’s heightened heart rate and the way the changeling sighed after every piece was put away. It is with this frighteningly calm demeanor that Karasu rolls her chair into the tent and crosses one leg over the other. All is tense and silent for the first few breaths after she enters. Karasu drums her fingers on the book and tilts her head upwards. “You’ve been busy.”
Quintessa doesn’t look up when Karasu enters, though she knows she’s there, she continues to put things away diligently, pretending not to notice until Karasu has spoken. Placing the last piece into her box, the White Dove, the piece symbolic of Valrae, and draping a dark green cloth upon it. “I have,” Quintessa states simply, closing the small chest and placing it back on the shelf before she turns back to gaze down at her lover. “You seem to be recovering well… and your studies? Your skills in necromancy are improving as expected.” If Quintessa was aware that Karasu had been spying on her, she doesn’t point it out. She appears completely obvious. “I’m sure you’ve heard that I’ve suspended my plans to seek revenge upon Kasyr. Somewhat indefinitely… I need to talk to you about that but first I want to talk about something else.” Quintessa moves around the large war table, now left barren, and kneels beside Karasu, hiking up her dress as she takes a knee. “My Love,” her voice is soft and personal, mismatched eyes searching the feline for something, a deep intensity in them that did not match the dull exhaustion that seemed to hover around the changeling in a thick aura. “We have endured much without being given a chance to heal, both physically and mentally, but I still keep moving forward without properly appreciating this time we have together.” She reaches forward, touching Karasu’s lap, searching for the fingers that were idly drumming on her book, trying to hold her hand. “I need to take this time to check on you, it’s my job now, as your future wife. So… how are you holding up? Tell me about your recovery.”
Karasu allows Quintessa’s hand to find her own, forcing her lips to curve upwards into a smile that fails to reach her eyes. “I traced down the one carnomancy specialist that has not gone entirely mad or fallen off the face of the hollows. He said that due to my heritage, my body would more than likely reject any attempts to fuse a full-blooded feline tail to my spine. Even if that legendary protoflesh fell from the sky, he also said that too much time has passed since the initial wound to have good success rates.” She says this with the same indifference as one would talk about the weather, but the way the corners of her lips twitch as she tries to maintain a smile tells otherwise. “I might not be able to wield a sword again, even if I could learn to walk unaided without my sense of balance.” Karasu squeezes Quintessa’s hand tightly. “I will be able to stand long enough to be at an altar, though, that is not a concern of mine.” Her smile finally falls. “What is a concern is why you would spare the life of the rat bastard that forced us into this camp and made an attempt on your life.” Any traces of the spellblade from Xalious that believed in sparing a life whenever possible has dried up and died. Even though there are no traces of the lich left in her blood, her expression carries a coldness that Mhad’xlyn often wore when using Karasu’s body. “I don’t believe I stuttered when I said that we would have a revenant skin throw rug in our home.”
Quintessa seems to recall something when Karasu mentions protoflesh, a common goal that they could work on together now. “Protoflesh isn’t so out of our reach,” the warlock murmurs, “But I would need permission from Khitti to gain access to the formula, and it won’t be an easy endeavor even with the recipe. I too need a way to replace my arm so… We shall begin that project together once I gain approval. It is time for you to begin your practical venture into advanced necromancy as my assistant.” Then the subject turns to things far more dire, the situation with Kasyr and Karasu’s revenge. “You did not stutter.” Her voice is cold now, the softness turning into permafrost, “But how are you meant to kill him? Even in peak physical condition what would you do to slay him? You did not study under him nearly as closely as I did, so how will you know how to fight him? What happens when he uses electro-magic forces to launch a piece of metal so fast the friction of the air causes it to melt and become molten? What happens when he uses a Kensai art to divide the fabric of reality with a swing of his sword, cutting a hole in the Weave that snaps right back in place thereafter? I’m not sure you realize just how difficult a task it will be to skin Kasyr or the long list of people who have made similar attempts against him before you.” Quintessa pauses to inhale, a pain digging at her from deep inside her chest. “If your desire is to truly see him dead then we have to do it on unequal terms- Our terms. We can’t outfight him, not as he is. Not as we are.”
Karasu shakes her head. “I only know black tides and curse sigils in theory, even though I should have more than enough negative energy to put it into practice.” This statement carries more bitterness than poorly prepared coffee, for it is definitely not for lack of trying on either Karasu or Quintessa’s sides. “My revivication is laughable at best, and quite frankly I prefer to leave all things alchemical and botanical to you, save for the basic knowledge needed to advance further.” She takes a deep breath as Quintessa lays out all the complications inherent in even considering Kasyr an enemy. “To take him on even when I was in good health was a suicide mission at best, and laughable enough for him to consider it a game at worst. You’re absolutely right. He can tamper with this world in ways that the Gods should have smited him for long ago.” Another deep breath. “Let me focus on my studies first. Though I refuse to become a lich or a vampire on principle, I will find a way to transform this body to suit my needs.”
Quintessa seems to ponder on what Karasu says thoughtfully, letting go of her hand to rise and rest against the empty oaken table. “You’ve studied it enough, I think, all that’s left is to actually use what you’ve learned in practical ways. What skill we lack in revivification I shall supplement from the other members of the guild… That *is* why we are a guild, after all. We will both find ways of surpassing the inherent limitations of these physical bodies we currently possess, but I agree, the current path ahead does not seem to lead to either of us becoming vampires. I would not dare submit to either of the only two vampires I trust with requesting such a thing, and you would not consent to one of them I am certain. And the other would lead me down a path I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist… the black spiral of insanity that took Larewen. Shishi’s bloodline does not have a very good track record, and the further you go down the more muddy it becomes. No, I shall avoid the temptation of undeath all together. Caluss ensured that.” Quintessa examines Karasu again, this time imagining her as something new and more powerful. “And what next? Who will train you to fight against him?” Her questions are rhetorical and leading, followed up by a new suggestion. “What if we convince Kasyr himself to train us? I know deep down he wants to reconcile- what if we use this as an opportunity to extract him of every skill he knows? An indestructible training dummy preparing us for the day we are finally powerful enough to destroy him for good.” Quintessa’s expression is somewhat hesitant. The idea sounded good at first but now she was doubtful. Karasu’s hatred ran deeper than she could have imagined.
Karasu looks as though a fermin has spit in her tea when Quintessa brings up the idea of training under Kasyr again. “Are you…” The demifeline takes a deep breath before she finishes a sentence she’ll regret. “That is a serious request, not one made in jest.” She says on the exhale to buy some time for the thought to process. Karasu turns her head one way, cracking the joints in her neck, and then turns it the other way, making sure to crack the opposing joints. Slightly calmer now, Karasu slowly says, “It would take quite a bit of work for me to be in the same room with him without that nonsensical Ascendi ability picking up on how much I want him to suffer.” She turns her necromantic tome over in her lap before tucking it between her thigh and the chair. “I cannot hold a sword in my current state. Unless he is willing to teach me how to pull weaponry from thin air and swing it with only a spell the way he does, I doubt I will be a very good student.” Rhodolite eyes flicker to Quintessa’s mismatched ones, and her hand softly reaches out to cup her fiance's scarred cheek. “You’re willing to move on from the past, and metamorphosize yourself, even though dangers still threaten to repeat themselves. You and my sister are alike in that regard.” Karasu smiles a cold smile. “I hate that. I cannot rest until my grievances are resolved, and I have quite the backlog to catch up on.” She withdraws her hand. “If you want me to play nice with Kasyr, I can try.”
Quintessa doesn’t allow her expression to betray the concern that grew in the pit of her stomach, of the realization that Quintessa might have created a monster that she would be forced to slay one day, but as everyone else in her own life had been to her, she was unwilling to do anything to stop it. “My dear Karasu,” Quintessa’s tone grows dark, feeling offended by being compared to Kanna for some reason, like comparing a sharp knife to a soft pillow. “Do you think this is moving on? Plotting around the inevitable conclusion that we will have to eliminate Kasyr for me to take his crown?” Quintessa fishes around in her robes to produce a cigarette, which she lights with a flash of green flames. “He spared me that night in the forest, a decision I will make him regret one day. He should have killed me and not taken a half measure.” Quintessa exhales a cloud of clove and lavender smoke that hangs in the air, undisturbed by the outside wind. “Despite this I have been meeting Kasyr in secret, a fact that I should reveal to you. I’m attempting negotiations based solely on his nostalgic feelings for us, so yes, please play nice with him. Once you can hold a sword again, perhaps you can try to push the limits of the Jubaku no Kijo against him as an experiment. I don’t know, perhaps that will provide some cathartic relief… ” Quintessa shakes her head before moving the cigarette up to her mouth to take a long drag, saving herself from rambling too much.
Karasu levels a gaze at Quintessa that conveys no surprise, nor anger. She knew. “Thank you for being honest with me.” Karasu takes a deep breath of the relaxing clove smoke, allowing her shoulders to melt back into the plush seat of her chair. “There are many things we could do in the future. If you sense that his nostalgia is that great and can be used in our favor, then I will trust you. While I continue my training, I think I should seek out other guild members to gain perspective on what it is I could be missing to put my knowledge into practice. Being half of a race with limited access to magic has always put me at a disadvantage, so this is nothing new for me. Hopefully, I won’t have to deal with this for much longer.” Karasu is indeed a monster, the depravity of which not even she herself understands or will unleash for a time, but they are both thinking the same. Despite how in love they are, they will have to put the other down after Kasyr is put down for the sake of the world.