RP:The Fallen King's Return

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Summary: Redhale has returned to Vailkrin at last and Larewen approaches him. Offers of power, of equality, are extended to the former king and his ilk, but he refuses them. Nonetheless, he promises not to stand in Larewen's way, provided slavery is not brought down upon the dead. Talene Nasar is privy to this conversation by sheer coincidence and makes her identity known to the woman who wishes to be Queen and the man who once was.

Hanging Corpse Tavern

Redhale reclined in one corner of the tavern: A boiling black mass surrounded by piles of scattered bones, the remains of whatever had been brought to him as food. The wooden walls behind him were warped and dark, though it was hard to tell whether this was because of the rot and mold that had begun to spread over his trash heap or if it was simply a symptom of the illusions which governed his appearance. The mask that stood in for his face hung looking downwards at the floor, ignoring the small group of citizens that had gathered around him.

Larewen enters the tavern in silence, slow and steady steps guiding her along a meandering path through tables and chairs toward her favorite spot: the hearth. Her left eye has been replaced, the gaping socket now a gray orb. Langley's eye. Her right, a deep chocolate hue, reads the magics of the establishment, noting their familiarity as her gaze sweeps the room. Both eyes settle on the seated mass of darkness and her nostrils flare. In that moment, the necromancer forsakes her favored spot and approaches Redhale instead. Without waiting for an invitation, the scarred and corrupted elf drops into the seat across from him. "You've been gone a long time. You and Kasyr both. Tell me, Redhale. What did your city, your subjects, do to deserve their abandonment?" There is no formality in her words, and yet they are also free of accusation. A simple, dark curiosity tints them. She watches, waits, for his answer.

Redhale’s gaze swiveled up to face Larewen, “Abandonment?” He hadn’t thought much about how his absence would be viewed by the others in Vailkrin; since returning he had only been met with adulations from his fellow corpsey-folk, “My fellow deceased help one another; hundreds wait to replace any one that rests. How can such a group be considered abandoned?” Of course this wasn’t completely true; through battle and wit Redhale had established himself a position of reverence amongst his peers, but in theory the undead population had no central authority, only bending to the hierarchy implied by age and strength, “It is good for them to see me gone. Celebrity does not become a member of our populace. I suppose the dead tend to get stuck in their ways, though.” He glanced over the ‘fans’ that had gathered around: Mostly mindless corpses who moved whichever way the mass consciousness swayed them, “What of Kasyr? Are those left behind surprised that he did not take to playing politics?”

Talene's hearing was as good as the rest of her kind, perhaps a bit better, but she paid little attention to the conversation between the seated darkness that the lady Larewen was conversing with. Moreso, she made it a point to slip in with little to no notice, finding a spot at the bar closer to the door. The rogue was grateful for Steadman not making a big to-do about coming over to inquire what she wanted, though he'd know all to well what she'd usually order. One leg crossed over the other, a hand flicking her hood back absentmindedly, but not her slouchy cap. Waiting for her wine, ears would "perk", and absorb.

Larewen can feel those mindless stares and the magic that thrums through her veins sings for the chance to call out to them, to take control of them. The elf responds to that call with a click of her tongue. "Not all of this city's corpses are like those," she says. "Your words may apply to them, but what of the more sentient ones? The ones like you?" She is quietly studying his body language... or whatever it is that a shapeless entity uses for expression. A smirk twitches the corners of her lips upward as he vocalizes his lack of surprise over Kasyr's own abdication. "I cannot say they are, I think it was to be expected. There is complacency amongst the nobles and merchants of this city, one that guarantees longevity while undermining the kingdom that this once was." She pauses for a moment, thoughtfully as she waves down a waiter. She does not need to vocalize her order: the staff here know her well enough. "Vailkrin can continue to limp along as it always has, home to shambling corpses and hungry leeches, or it can become the power it once was. The power that it might have been, if guided properly. What was the purpose of your regard as King of the Undead, if you think it only a celebrity status? Kasyr's was to forge an alliance with Frostmaw, to guarantee safety of a city that once was a harbinger of darkness. All it would take is for the Church of Arkhen to rain down upon us and we would fall. Does that bring you comfort?" All the while, Talene finds her seat. If the necromancer is aware of the vexing rogue, she shows no sign of it.

Redhale flopped one great heap of shadowy cloth in a (poor) imitation of a dismissing wave, “My words apply doubly to those who know their own way. We fought for freedom from control, not to submit ourselves to slavery by another name. If they missed my guidance then the lack of the same is exactly what they needed in order to better learn of self-governance.” He let out a long, whistling sigh that lifted one edge of his heaving robes in a flutter. He was no longer used to using up so many words in so short a time, “If the people here act in such a way to bring the church down on them, perhaps they deserve whatever fate is brought unto them.” As he rambled his attention would touch on Talene, the weight of his thoughts and observation creating a heavy pressure in the air around the rogue. He didn’t recognise this one, though he doubted he had been absent long enough that they had been born, grown and turned all while he was away.

Talene indeed felt such a weight upon herself, and it was hard not to glance over a shoulder in the direction of the conversing pair. The voice she now knew to belong to Redhale, emerald eyes pinned on him specifically. If the sentient darkness had memory of the vampiric Houses of Vailkrin, her face would bring a couple of names to mind; Colette, and House Nasar. Though she dressed plainly, it was hard to mistake her resemblance. Why would a former King of the Undead try to bring her attention to him, she pondered? Bottle of bloodwine was set before her, but it sat ignored.

"Tch," the necromancer Larewen responds sharply, dark brows raising. For a long moment, she simply stares at him in disbelief. During her time away from Lithrydel, this man had become king alongside Kasyr? "Our very existence is a blight in the eyes of Arkhen's church, Redhale," the elf reminds him coolly. "We need only exist to draw their ire, their attention. Their lack of action does not keen that we are free of their gaze. Only a fool would so readily believe so." Her ire has risen and yet she carefully keeps herself in check. "Guidance is not slavery. Ask my commander if he is a slave to my whim; ask my darling girl if she is a slave for living under the roof my house, for they are both dead. You may see this as their freedom, and in that you are misguided. What freedom is defenceless against those that would seek their demise for merely existing by laws contrary to nature?" She is dubious, truly. Was her own regard for the dead greater than his?

Redhale shook whatever head-part of shambled mass his mask was sat upon, “All existence is in slavery to those who claim to ‘guide’ us. An employer, a mayor, a king, a god... Justify your service, and the service given to you, however you will, but ultimately these hierarchies force the actions of those on the bottom. I refuse to let my fellow restless dead fall prey to such a system. Many of them have known the most forceful bondage imaginable, and yet all of them have access to the greatest freedom of any creature.” Larewen was a necromancer, she was used to holding the chains, she couldn’t understand the situation as he did, “But the same philosophy can be applied to anyone; you, girl.” He called out to the plainly dressed vampire who wasn’t making the best efforts to hide her eavesdropping, “How many times have you struggled through activities you didn’t choose, in order to advantage those who stood above you, simply because it was what your society expected of you? Because it was ‘proper’ or ‘paying your dues’ or ‘normal’?”

Talene had been doing fine, until Redhale forced her attention his way, and the surprise of his exertion of will had thrown her subtlety off. Turning to slide off her stool, she would face him and answer honestly, in a voice with little to no accent, and not overly seductive either. "While I embrace my strengths and my calling in un-life, it wasn't without it's...obstacles. Some of which, I still endeavour to conquer."

Larewen mirrors the shaking of Redhale's head, that smirk becoming a manic smile that splits her lips. Larewen was not always a necromancer, but her days of servitude were few. The closest thing to slavery for her had been when she submitted herself to Gheneroc's will, when she had become his consort. Before she returned to Vailkrin. As Redhale calls out to Talene, the elf's heterochromic gaze would fall upon the latter, studying her yet again. It seems each time she meets with the rogue, something is different about her. The first meeting, Larewen's left eye was silver. The second, it was gone. Now, the third, it would strike Talene as oddly familiar, for it is oddly reminiscent of Langley's eye - as it should be. After Talene has answered Redhale, Larewen's gaze returns to him. "In that case, perhaps diplomacy will not do. I have no desire to continue watching your ilk suffer as lesser creatures than the other vampires in this city; we both know that even in their freedom, many are treated no better than the Fermin. If you are happy to let them continue as they have been, to feign this idea of freedom you have bestowed upon them, then so be it; however, if you would like to truly see them free, to see them thrive in the glory that Vailkrin once was and will be again, amongst the nobility, amongst the leaders, to truly know their existence is more than just fodder, then know that I have an offer for you."

Redhale hacked up a dry, choking laugh, directing his response to Talene, “She would have us join the nobility. The very ones who subjugate others on a daily basis, as a matter of business. The ones who bicker with enemies and allies alike, who murder each other for another inch of power. Taking advantage of those they see as beneath them so that they can pin another badge of gold to their dress.” He turned to Larewen, having made his point, “You suggest to me that your way is better than ours? That rewarding the few makes a stronger society than embracing the many? Do you think your reign will have greater stability than the unending watch of the unquiet dead?”

Talene nodded to Redhale, unsurprised at this. Larewen had dressed, and carried herself, as such a type who would want to control others for her own ends. Then again, the rogue herself did have her own designs to rise above her current station to as high as she could within her mother's House. " I would not be so quick to rule -all- nobility as the same, sir. Some rise to power to correct the wrongdoings above them, instead of oppressing others. Some of the more "common" folk also need usurping by their fellows for similar reasons. I understand your concerns, but I must confess that my absence from this land may have been as long as your own, so there are some events I had missed out on. I am changing that, however." The shift in the play of moonlight along the floor through the windows made it clear time enough has passed that she must exit for now. " If you would permit me, sir, I should like to discuss this more soon." Before leaving, she'd bow, gracefully in Redhale's direction and give her name to both him and the heterochromatic eyed lady, "Talene Nasar, at your service." In a whirl of scarlet cloak, she'd turn on her heel and disappear out the door.

Larewen extends a hand outward, scarred fingers thrusting in the direction of the nearest mindless ghoul. "This does not represent all of the undead, Redhale. Do you truly think that they all desire to lay silently in complacency? Do you suggest that your kind wander aimlessly and without ambition? Of course inaction leads to greater stability. You can wander these streets rotting and powerless. Happy to simply exist in this world, or you can truly live. My reign will see the undead as one body, one thriving, unholy creature that lives for its own wellbeing. My mind only think that they are better than yours; you and I know this is not true." Silence follows, providing Talene with the opportunity to respond. Again the necromancer twists so that dual hued eyes can fix upon her, studying her in silence. When she has concluded, Larewen says nothing. Though her introduction does finally provide the elf with the answer to the question that had tugged at the back of her mind. Nasar. It was a name that she ought to have known, for she is nobility as well.

Redhale remained unmoved, “You mistake ambition that does not match your own for a lack of ambition. Those that have the will do wondrous things without need for nobility. We explore, learn, create, all on our own and in our own time.” He stood now, the mass of cloth that was his body stretching up to follow his masks lead like a black mess of sticky wet dough. The move would have been intimidating had he drawn himself higher over Larewen, as he well could have done, but for whatever reason he elected to take a standing posture that was barely taller than his sitting one. In this position he rolled out of his corner, through the border of bones he had collected around his seat, “As for this greater collective, this is accomplished without you already. We have moved as one before and can again, in a moments notice no less. Even those who’ve wended their way to farther lands can hear our call, and people tend to be surprised how quickly these old bones move...” His bones, at least, weren’t moving spectacularly fast at the moment; he rolled from his place like a lethargic slug, leaving behind a ruined, wobbly chair whose wood seemed to have... Melted, “You asked what we would do if the church came? We would devour them, and swell in numbers. They know this to be true; if they did no believe as much they would have come already, long ago.”

Larewen is smirking again, even as Redhale rises. The ruined chair left in his wake piques her interest, but it does not serve to deter her. No, even had he risen higher than her in stature, his darkness would have failed any attempt at intimidation. Too much time has been spent with far more threatening creatures - at least, in her mind. Perhaps it is foolish, but the elf has a distinct lack of fear. Instead she roles her shoulders. "What I wish will come to pass, regardless of whether or not you deign it worthy of your kind. You may be happy with where you are, but this is not a sentiment shared by all. While you and these," she pauses and extends her arm in a sweeping gesture toward the still lingering dead, "may be content with simply being free, my invitation will remain open to those that wish it. If your mind changes, if you wish for more, I am not a hard woman to find." As for the Church's lack of interference... she lets that subject alone.

Redhale nods along to Larewen’s claims, “As I do not claim any direct rule over the other cold bodies in the graveyard, they are free to aid you, or not, as they will. As long as your methods are not...” He turns his head backwards to face Larewen even as he creeps away from her, “...Exploitative, and your actions don’t bring harm upon us, then you will not meet resistance from me.” He whistled a sigh again as he pushed the tavern door open with whichever part of his body was leading the way, “A shame really, I had hoped you would come with a more... Original offer. So many promises of power, all the same, for all of time...” He spoke with wistful regret as he slugged his way out of the tavern.

Larewen makes no attempt to stop Redhale, though his remark does not escape her notice. Naturally, she is pleased that he will not stand in her way; the elf has no desire to exploit the dead, at least. The living maybe, but not the dead. Oddly enough, and perhaps a product of her own obsession with power, she is completely puzzled as to why that offer isn't enticing enough to woo the former king. No farewell is given, even as she leans back in her chair and contemplates.