RP:The Dismal Dead
Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc
Summary: Though the incomplete God Of Undeath has been felled, it's far too soon to rest. Vailkrin has been ravaged, both by the fell magics wrought during Caluss Advent, and now by uneasy tensions between it's undead population, and the rest of it's inhabitants. Still, Kasyr is back, as is Quintessa- and if they can set their shared history aside- they may even be able to save a city now pushed beyond any semblance of it's capacity.
Blood Fountain
This historic fountain has been magically restored, though with differences. The outer wall stands three feet high in a perfect circle, and a central pedestal rises a foot above that. On this have been raised two figures carved of pure white stone, a noble Lord and Lady of proud bearing, both obviously vampires. They are dressed in elegant robes, the embroidery depicted by fine, spidery engravings on the stone itself. Around the outside of the pool are carved, in slightly less detail than the statues above, depictions of all the races that may be sired, each in a vampiric form. The pool is already filled with bland but nutritious blood, the pipes creating a hypnotic spiraling motion as it flows in a clockwise direction. To the south a dimming path leads to high and ornate iron gates, beyond which may be glimpsed the tops of tombstones glinting below the bright moon as well as several larger buildings, and to the north seems to lie another hub of activity for the citizens and visitors of Vailkrin, to judge by the stream of nobles,commoners, traders and ruffians alike that are constantly treading to and fro.
Kasyr, not for the first time since returning, finds himself glancing over towards the changeling as they moved forward to get the first real look at the damage. Since the battle, her feelings had cooled- the fear, the rage, and even that exultant sense of vindication all having given way to a more muted sense of purpose. There was no ploy here, no hidden malice or maneuvering when she'd turned her attention to the city. The concern, however wrought, was real.
And for the first time since he'd returned to the city, he felt himself exhale a bitter sigh of relief- his mind fully slipping to the devastation in the distance. Too much was happening too quickly, figures writhed in a bonfire, as the mob already moved out to fetch fresh kindling. So he reached out to the city, to the bond that he'd built at her beating heart with the cost of his life, to the intimate connection shared with the one who danced in it's shadow. He reached out, and the space responding- folding between here and there with a disconcerting lurch, and dropping the pair at the perimeter of the atrocity that lit the city square.
Even at a distance, some hint to the body count had been apparent- but up close, it was a different story, entirely. The street was thick with bodies, by vampires taken unaware by the sudden shift in allegiances, and of the moldering undead who'd once served as vassals, or more prominent community figures whose wills had been momentarily sundered. It was not that the pavement was merely littered. It was packed- seemingly drawn together by the ooze which only now seemed to be receding, rejected by both flame's kiss and divine intention. "Calice." The worst part, however, was that the fighting -hadn't- simply stopped. Panic roamed the streets, and more proactive parties now fought, to cleanse potential risks- or stave off possible aggressors. In the distance, one of the noble houses burned- a grandiose reflection of the numerous smaller fires which illuminated the normally bleak city.
He can feel his shoulders start to slouch at the sheer thought of the work ahead, and he forces them straight again- jostling the still potato-sack carried necromancer back into place.
Quintessa catches herself glancing over at Kasyr at the same time he had, the self-made numbness currently freezing her emotions keeping her from flashing him a flirtatious smile or haughty grin like she might have done years past. She doesn’t have time to play games with him right now- she’s not even interested in it. Right now Quintessa’s focus is on the city, a great concern bubbling up from under the frozen surface of her inner feelings, concern for her people, her country, and most of all, concern about how this will make Vailkrin look on the grand stage. Mishandling this like Frostmaw and now Trist’oth had been mishandled would make them look weak and ripe for invasion. Former ties to Larket or Cenril could turn ugly if their people choose to gobble up the anti-undead sentiment caused by the now destroyed Alithyk Caluss. Quintessa is reserved and careful about how she wants to proceed with this, holding her cards close to her chest.
As they step through the streets clogged with bodies, Quintessa only makes a cursory note of the casualties. Truthfully she’s less interested in the numbers and more interested in who’s banner they fly. The fewer House Nasar banner-men she had to keep tabs on the better. With a finger pressed to her earring she passes a brief message back to her castle, “Gundula.” This was the name of her Warden, a wildling human she had been employing since the Blood Bowl, a mortal woman born and raised in the Dark Forest just as Quintessa had. Certainly she would have been unaffected by the will of the dead godlet. “I want a full report in five minutes. Gather the small council immediately.” Her voice is hushed but she makes no attempt to hide it from Kasyr, mostly it was done so she didn’t catch the attention of the mob. The last thing she needed was for their ire to turn upon her.
“Kasyr,” Quintessa lifts her fingers from her earring to point at the noble house now engulfed in flames in the distance, “Who’s House is that?” Her other hand moves from under her cloak to lift up a silver talisman, a pre-Larketian Apostate symbol of Vakmatharas, which emanates a wide aura of necrotic energies meant to counter his failed creation’s influence. Though it might not be enough to snap an entire hoard back to their senses, the talisman would at least purge the ooze that was too slow to recede. “More importantly,” she continues, her mismatched gaze, snake eye and all, flickering over to search the Kensai for advice. “Do we wish to intervene?” Her tone is cold and analytical, “We have many shared enemies in this city. If we are selective with relief then the people who we do save won’t be in any position to complain about those we didn't, will they?” She holds up the Vakmatharas charm higher as she speaks, a burst of mana evaporating more of Caluss’ influence. “That seems most pragmatic to me.”
Kasyr, distracted as he is by the travesty unfolding around them, would have likely chalked up the name to some quiet invocation- were it not for the orders that follow it. He can't imagine the news could be good, given how rife with undead her forces were- but perhaps she'd been paranoid enough to include some degree of destructive fail-safe to stymie the forces sooner than some of their peers. A thought that likewise shifts his mind to the necromancer guild, and house Mahara, "...Have any necromancer contacts still?" While it was almost certain there would be fatalities, given their close proximity to the undead- the survivors were far more suited to surviving the aftermath then most- and were probably the closest things to hubs they could hope to find. Lefty, too, would likely need to be contacted- if only to see if they had managed anything in Vailkrins moment of need, or if they'd succumbed as well.
It's the mention of his name that snaps him back to the moment, to the heat of the blaze in front of him, and the clamour that had briefly trailed away in the wake of anxious, racing thoughts. "I- " In the wake of the uncertainty, his mind reaches out to dredge his recollection of the city- but what he finds itself is a thread to tug on, an almost lyrical lifeline that provides an uncannily accurate snapshot of the conflagration- and an almost uncomfortably accurate image of an office interior, painted in blood and smoke. The oldest lineage, ended. "...Torrador. Including their liege." His head throbs, at the uncomfortable certainty he feels, and the implications of the aftermath.
It's enough that he actually takes a moment to register the energies that Quintessa invokes, watching as his machinations begin to cede before death's call, no longer bolstered by the bugs malign will and once undying nature. And yet, as attuned as Quintessa was, she might note that something feels odd in the wielding, and with the city itself. Though it's clearly not enough to interfere with her instincts, her advice accompanying a fresh rout of undead, as a flask of blazing oil is cast into a crowd. He feels his stomach reel at the sheer scale of what was before them, and the simple prudence of her actions, and yet. Even if they picked and chose, how many that -deserved- to be saved would be sacrificed in the moment. Who would they prioritize first. Even with his speed, how many atrocities would flicker through in a few breathes.
"Stop. . ." The first words come out hoarsely, almost mouthed- though they bear no venom, nor even seem to be aimed at the changeling. "Stop." There's a force there now, enough that it seems to carry across the courtyard, even rousing the attention of those who had been busy exulting in the slaughter. And yet, it's the final one that truly carries the Kensai's intention- as it rings out through the city streets, carried through the force of the cities fresh consecration, it's inhabitance by a celestial songstress. "STOP!" For a moment, that authority would ring out through the air, reverberating in the sounds of the rioters, and briefly arrest their attentions.
A divine din whose echo carries even as Kasyr's voice drops once more, a tiredness taking it's place. Everything that the changeling is posing is so simple. An -easy- solution to the problems that had plagued them both for years, and yet, "We can't." It feels foreign for how easily those words came, the quiet implication ringing in his own ears for a moment- before he shakes his head and starts again, "This city needs stability. And trust. It's spent years eating itself alive with conspiracies et schemes. Would it recover, if we fail them now?"
He can almost feel the rebuttal coming, and whether or not tired cynicism was coming, he still felt the need to add, "The cities spear -failed- it. Turned on it publicly, and helped herald this in. So too, did you- but you can be the shield it needs now."
Quintessa nods her head at Kasyr’s question, affirming that she still had Necromancer contacts. “I do,” she confirms her nod, “My position in the guild was fully restored some weeks ago, in fact. Shall I summon them?” Quintessa is extremely calm in the situation, the screams, the chaos, the flames- it's all just background noise to her. Then, the name of the House currently burning is spoken, and one of the corners of her month finally curls downwards. “Such a shame,” Her tone sounds insincere but there is no hint of sarcasm, she just seems tired.
The changeling doesn’t flinch when Kasyr raises his voice, she doesn’t even argue when Kasyr rejects her suggestion, in fact the rejection of such a thing causes a new emotion to spark up over her cold surface of apathy; Approval. After all, what kind of leader would allow the city to burn simply so they can rule over the ashes? Neither one of them, Quintessa nor Kasyr wanted that it seems. A small smile breaks the emotionless mask she had been holding finally as her fingers dance in the wind, manipulating the flames, causing them to shrink at her will. Was the question some kind of test?
“The Spear and Shield hid this place from it as long as we could; Why else would this devastation be just now coming to the city only after It’s been defeated? The Spear merely confronted a traitor to the city, a person who struck against the one person saving it. My sacrifices shielded Vailkrin from It all the way up until the bitter end, I cannot stop shielding it now. I only hope that our enemies are grateful and remember our honorable decision to save them in the end.” Quintessa’s tone indicates that she knows they will not be grateful, that they will continue to scheme against them because that was the name of the game here in Vailkrin. Stability would not change the culture of it eating itself alive with conspiracies, if anything history shows times of peace causes them to flourish. “Well,” she speaks to erase these thoughts from her mind, “Shall we?”
Kasyr doesn't seem overly surprised, given the collaborative spirit the changeling had been displaying. "Figure out survivors, and make sure they can hold down the guild. We need safe places first, before we can direct people. Only then we can start organizing." His thoughts are starting to organize themselves better, sifting through the mental math of what needs to be done- though, there is a pause at the assertion of 'Traitor'. Is that how she'd seen it- or was it still how she viewed it?
Regardless, he still found himself snorting, if only because how fresh the exchange rang, "He made his actual motivations abundantly clear- and his indifference to the city, and continent both. " He can't even muster the effort to be angry, however. Things could have been worse, if Blue had actually parsed the person who'd done the lions share of damage to Larewen's estate. Thankfully, Blue wasn't really a keen investigator. "It's fine, though. We need villains to vilify- People don't simply forget, or forgive. Not when their lives are destroyed." He can feel the ringing start to abate, feel distant pulses of confusion mingling with the anger and fear that hung in the air. "Like that propagandist of yours. Spent a lot of effort ensuring people would be vulnerable and blind to this situation." It's starting to piece together now. A narrative of countless truths weaved together to make a convincing enough lie. Something for those present to latch onto in the moment. "Her serving as your 'voice' could be equally construed as her puppeting the situation." It's a bleak shift to the narrative, but- that's what they needed. A story that could be directed now, to arrest attention. And quickly.
Quintessa can’t help but allow her stony expression to falter whenever Kasyr speaks of Shishi’s indifference to the city. She has long suspected the same thing and hearing it even from the Kensai drives a wedge of uncertainty into her heart. Her gaze lowers, somewhat dejected. “No, you’re right. His real loyalties in this city lie in the hands of his daughter and heir to House Thorne and yet… When someone strikes against me he is first to strike back. I cannot ignore such devotion to my cause… But Saorsa Cladach on the other hand, my Master of Coin…” Quintessa’s brow furrows and she slowly shakes her head, raven trusses falling into her face. “I never approved that statement she released.” Quintessa admits, her voice low and hollow. “I’ve allowed her to get away with much because she made House Blackwell extremely wealthy, but the fact remains that she's a foreigner, a Catalian. She watched her home burn decades ago so she is content to make a profit at the expense of ours… I see it now.” Mismatched eyes shift upward again, a dangerous gleam in them as she adds, “This might even be seen as misguided revenge levied against Elzazul and Khasad for what they did to her family. Whatever motivations it is clear either way; I have housekeeping to do.”
The changeling pivots the conversation away before she can clarify her ‘traitor’ comment to him, instead reaching for her earring again, to fulfill Kasyr’s request regarding the Necromancer’s Guild. “Captain?” She pauses for a moment, listening to the message being projected into her mind, nodding along as if the person on the other end can see her. “All of them? …I see.” Quintessa thinks for a second, turning away to look at the burning city again. “Then gather the Black Cloaks. Secure the battlements and make sure the small council does not leave the keep. Garrison who you can there and then lead the household guard to the Black Spire- Fly my banner so they know you come in peace. Once you have the tower secured, report back immediately. That is all.”
Quintessa releases her earring and meets Kasyr’s eyes again. “My patrols have been eliminated,” she reports, “And most of the skeletal forces manning my walls have been corrupted. A third fled into the forest, a third more fell to pieces immediately. The rest had to be destroyed by my own guard… Luckily the runes protecting Castle Blackwell worked long enough to mitigate the damage. Everything outside of it though…” She pauses, looking at the destruction before her once more before re-fixing her gaze upon Kasyr. “I expect my banner-men to regain control of the Necromancer’s Tower shortly. Until then we can make use of my inner bailey, should you wish for it.”
Kasyr doesn't say anymore about Shishi's position. Time was precious, and Quintessa was providing him a missing piece of the puzzle- a name that had slipped from his mind, amidst the broken shards of a hereafter he was not supposed to remember. The concession that it had not been Tessa's approval, but merely her acquiescence to the scheme is a shallow placation, ultimately - but, if it's a truth, it would perhaps hold up to arcane scrutiny. And that was, hopefully enough.
That, and the knowledge that amidst everything- some places were still safe. And others needed to become safe. Thankfully- one thing had dawned upon the Kensai. While Quintessa and Kasyr had come from the graveyard- their brief passage before he'd distorted the city had been uneventful, likely due to any conflicts there being incredibly short-lived due to the disproportionate amount of undead. While it likely didn't bode well for the acolytes at Vakmatharas' temple, and there were concerns about the library- it still afforded them hubs. "One moment, then."
This time, when he searches for the words- the rhythm is easier to find, the words washing over his tongue like a honeyed balm, burying his own anxiousness and unsurety beneath an all-too familiar influence. This time, his words start with that forceful authority- An echo that Tessa may even begin to recognize, given the shrine she had once laid in her room in simpler times. "Enough." This time, it doesn't just echo within the air, and the minds of those caught within Vailkrins space. Windows rattle, shingles dislodge from their ravaged moorings, but are hardly given the time to recover, "It's over. The Lord of Undeath is no more. Even now, his corrupting influence recedes." Across the square, he can see some of the individuals who'd been eyeing them dropping their weapons- though it seemed more in shock, than any real sense of understanding. But, he had their attention- and with every moment he rested within the city, it began to feel easier. But it also meant he needed to rein in his own ambitions. "Myself, and a handful of others, including Khitt Of the necromancers guild-" It wasn't just for the city he owed some semblance of justice, even if it would make things simpler. "and the Lady Blackwell finally put an end to it. And so I ask you again, Stop. Stop dancing to it's strings even after we've laid it low. Not when we're so close to snuffing away the last of it's legacy after long years of work."
An ache in his head started to take hold- confusion, and a directionless fear seeming to press in on all sides, and a growing sense of expectation. They needed something to trust in, but how could they- and what would they do? It's not spoken, but it feels nauseatingly palpable. "A legacy that had been built on a grand deception. Many of you remember the work that house Blackwell had put into perpetrating the deception that the Lord of Undeath was but a rumour- sowing confusion, and chaos, while trying to curry favor. But it was not at Quintessa's behest. How could she, after being laid low by grievous injury." The events may be playing out of order in the retelling- but there was the conviction of truth in them, one which continued onwards, "The fault rests at the feet of the true orchestrator of our cities tragedy. One Saorsa Cladach. House Blackwell's Master of Coin, and the one who sought to profit off our misery, even as she helped push the city into the void. Worse- she was not alone in this conspiracy." Time for some more brutal truths. "Many of you may have heard rumours of Vailkrins spear emerging to meet with me at the castle. A meeting that ended in Violence. That was no rumour. In an act of treason, he sought to lay me low, and leave this city unguarded. And now, in our hour of need? Where was he?"
It's at this point that Kasyr gives a sidelong glance over to Quintessa, in order to both gauge her reaction, as well as see if there were any further amendments he needed to make. At this point- the narrative had been mostly spun- and while there were perhaps still room for some corrections, he needed to help direct the survivors to where the various places they needed to go.
Quintessa’s eyes light up as she looks up at the sky, as if she can see the sound of Kasyr’s voice echoing up there. There is a sense of recognition in them, but she isn’t quite certain how it’s happening- something she would try to study until she could (hopefully) reproduce it, no doubt. The words of the speech, however, cause her expression to grow more grim, the relaxed state their jointly cooperative attitudes causing her cold demeanor to warm somewhat, but now she had turned pale. Was she really going to turn against Shishi, the Spear of Vailkrin? Publicly, at least for now, she had to.
Quintessa lowers the symbol of Vakmatharas and tucks it beneath her cloak, a slow inhale to stave away the anxiety creeping up on her. She looks up just as Kasyr glances back up at her expectantly, locking eyes with him in silence for a second before she thinks of something to add. “Saorsa Cladach, accused profiteer and conspirator, is already in Blackwell custody and awaits to answer for her crimes. In the interim Castle Blackwell’s gates will remain open to all refugees until the city is deemed suitable to return to. Blackwell forces are working tirelessly to secure everything east of the Bridge Across the Void, but it must be advised that at least a hundred animated skeletons now currently roam the Dark Forest mindlessly. Venturing beyond Castle Blackwell’s walls is done so at your own peril.”
She shrugs, unsure if she had anything more to add before turning away, touching her earring again, and in a hushed tone giving the order to “Warden Gundula, lock her up in the Red Cell. I want her watched at all hours. Understood?” The gem on her ear slips from her grasp, hands returning to hide under her cloak as she turns to Kasyr, this time a more personal question. “The Shield is sworn to serve the realm. What else can I do for Vailkrin?”
Kasyr's still learning how to use the curious connection he's acquired with the city, but after a few moments of humming, he's able to take hold of the echo of Quintessa's speech- amplifying the words until the end of her offer of aid. For his own part, he adds a trio of careful addendums, "For the moment, The necromancers guild is in the process of reclamation, but with hopefully, we'll be able to count on the remaining students, and likely House Mahara to aid in providing another safe point for refugees. We understand there will be many of you, those unaffiliated with houses, or those who have lost a place amongst the major and minor houses. It's for this reason I will also be opening the castle to as many as possible- and seeing about finding gainful employment to those who will need it in coming days." Heavens above knows there will likely be a shortage of guards due to the pandemonium. "Lastly, While you all know my stance on segregation, and the poor treatment of undead by the prior administration- I still implore those belonging to that quarter to please gather to the southern portion of the city. Those who gather there have my word that they will be under my personal protection, until we can properly establish order, and a proper vigil of the area." That...ought to suffice. Separating the various groups while tensions ran high was going to be necessary.
And yet- something tickled at the back of his brain. It's only at Quintessa's oath that the idea flickers fully into life- mirrored by concern. "We'll talk more later. For now, something you said concerned me. Your wards- you say they held up -despite- the attention of a god. I implore you to go to your castle. Now. If I was a petulant spiteful thing- I'd have provided you -hope-. The illusion of safety, before hurting you." The Kensai inclines his head to the receding corruption, and then back to the changeling. "And his influence isn't gone yet." As much as the swordsman wanted things attended to, this took precedence. "...I can send you to her, if you want."
While he waits for an answer, his attention is already flickering back to the matters at hand, his voice picking up once more, "To the heads of houses, and the ones who sought to represent both the undead and other members of Vailkrin. Gather at the fountain once your affairs are in order." ...Which would also give him time to at least..fetch a chair and a blank for Khitti, so he can pretend he wasn't lugging the necromancer around.
Quintessa folds her hands behind her back as Kasyr wraps up his speech, the numbness taking over again. She nods her head at the Kensai, her thoughts returning to her castle and the runes she had employed- Dragana runes, vampire magic. She knows they probably have been corrupted as well, the consequences of which she can’t even imagine. “Yes,” she pivots a booted heel to activate the shadow magic held within, preparing to make a jump back to her fortress. She hesitates for a moment however, her gaze returning to him with a glimmer of curiosity, tilting her head to the side with the tiniest of smirks. Was he actually concerned about her safety? “I’ll be careful. Even if I have to tear down my own castle, stone block by stone block, I’ll destroy every last trace of it.” Quintessa drags her heel across the ground, a portal of shadows splitting on the surface below her as her boots fully activate. “No… I can handle it from here. Thank you, though. Once the east marches have been secured I will come to the fountain to represent all those who fall under my banner. Is there anything else?”
Kasyr shakes his head, whatever may have been readable on his expression already asserting itself back to a practiced state of neutrality. People would be arriving, and he'd have to be ready. His attention already flickers back to the square. Whether it be the grand conflagration, Quintessa's magics, or the active invocation of Daedria's blessing- the foulness was receding faster by the moment, a blight that now lurked within the boiled and congealed fountain. It was just missing one last touch- an array of swords forming within the cobble stone violently, steel headstones to both signify his presence- and to potentially dissuade any who still might think about bringing their crusade to the graveyard. A point that seems demonstrably effective, given the manner in which the crowd near to them disperses that much faster. "We'll talk again later- once I've finished settling in. Bring her along, if you like."