RP:The Lessons of Forgiveness

Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc

Part of the Once Upon a Midnight Dreary Arc

Summary: Quintessa & Kasyr convene after hours at Larket's academy, addressing both a possible long-term solution to her exile, and a somewhat impromptu heart-to-heart. Things continue to go better than what could normally be hoped for.

Academy of Magics

Settled in a clearing just inside the dense forest a weathered stone cathedral rises; its dull grey walls cloaked in ivy. The first thing noticed upon stepping through the colossal doorway is the high , vaulted ceiling overhead, supported by a series of ornate arches and buttresses. Tall narrow windows line the top of the great hall beyond the portal, casting a mixture of light and shadow about the structure which both illuminates beautifully sculpted stone angels and shrouds the rough-hewn leers of demons. The establishment seems somewhat altered; not entirely possessing the features of a true cathedral, it appears this one has been re-built to serve another purpose. Instead of the usual pews, desks; carved from massive oak and pine, take up the centre of the room. Upon each rests a simple inkwell containing scarlet ink, together with a handsome raven-feather quill. The western side of the hall is taken up with an entire section of remarkably high bookcases; filled from side to side, floor to ceiling with exquisitely preserved tomes and scrolls of varying origin and context. To one trained in magic, the subtle violet shimmer surrounding them would be simple to interpret as protection from the tooth of time and the touch of mother nature. To the east lies a third section, this one being taken up by comfortable crimson coloured satin chairs and skillfully polished oak tables- surrounding a single, massive fireplace embellished with golden runes; evidently for more relaxed conversations and discussions amongst the order residing here. A set of stairs leads up from the far end of the room to an alcove in the wall, where high-backed chairs reside around a large table, the dark wood inlaid with intricate ivory detail. Clearly, this area is reserved for the leaders of these halls. An errant breeze dances through one of the windows, the banners which hang from the ceiling rippling gently in its wake. Upon closer inspection, they would be revealed to be constructed of silk, bearing no other marking than five silver circles upon the dark violet background. This place seems to be a facility of learning and wisdom, a sanctuary for scholars and magicians.

Kasyr, on any other day, would have taken one of his various shortcuts back to Vailkrin. And yet, a letter had been waiting for him in his office- one which saw him lingering at the academy for longer than normal, the muffled sound of students gradually turning to white noise as he goes about a different sort of paperwork than his new normal. Specifically, grading papers. 'A sound theory, but can you apply it practically?'. 'Please don't apply this practically. Leave it to Xalious to rack up a student bodycount.' And perhaps his least favourite, 'This looks like someone else's dissertation from last term, please report to the office.' The latter being his least, since it meant another day of staying after hours -and- some pesky parent likely showing up to offer excuses, and- well. The majority of them knew better than to make threats, but, there was the occasional one. And 'Intimidating parents' wasn't exactly smiled upon. So, he did so sparingly.

Quintessa had been making herself a regular face at the academy in spite of the veiled hints that she should avoid this place for now. She wasn’t exactly the kind to take warnings like that seriously. She was Quintessa Blackwell, not some cowardly waif, it would take a lot more than a little danger to scare her away. Besides, Quintessa had other motivations for being at the academy, lurking in the dim hallwalls after dark. Kasyr was a teacher here now after he was wrongfully, in her eyes, ejected from the Mage’s Guild. She had since joined the Academy of Magics herself, using her privilege to maintain dual membership despite the tensions between the Mage’s Guild and their organization, toeing the line, never speaking out against either institution. And why should she? Larket had never wronged her- not directly, so remaining neutral was a matter of practicality. Tonight those practical matters involved Kasyr, or rather what he’d been getting up to. It had been far too long since she picked his brain regarding academic matters or took a peek at his notes. As her willowy frame silently drifts down the hall, a long, purple and silver robe covering her body, she stops just before Kasyr’s door, listening for sounds coming from the other side. Had she managed to finally catch him? Did he get the note she left him? She awaits patiently for a sign, her hand raising up to either try the doorknob or knock, depending on what her instinct tells her.

Kasyr can feel an acute familiarity tingle at the edge of his senses, and he welcomes the distraction- the papers being set aside for the moment, so he can extend one arm towards the door. From his flesh comes sinuous darkness, a brief manifestation of what he was beneath the skin- used for the mundane task of coiling about the door knob and twisting it open. The speed in which it dissipates leaves the door quietly creaking open, seemingly of it's own volition- to reveal the Kensai, elbows propped on his desk, fingers twined together, and his chin resting atop. It's a practiced pose, often accompanied by an expression best described as bored hostility- and used to good effect on delinquents- but today, there's a slight twist on the norm, more of a faint curiosity. "And here I thought you'd gotten past your 'slipping notes to the teacher' phase."

Quintessa slowly enters, steps so small it seems as if she is hovering instead of walking, hands moving together to rest against her abdomen. “Perhaps I’m regressing.” She stands before him, dark rings of makeup around her eyes making her look gaunt and skeletal, her voice dull but without malice. “With the kind of trauma I’ve endured I wouldn’t be surprised.” Her mismatched eyes scan the room casually, not really looking for anything in particular, a tiny smile beginning to play on her features. “I admit it felt a bit nostalgic to do. Perhaps I ought to dress in a student uniform and call you “Master Kasyr” again.”

Kasyr takes in the changelings' appearance, his mind trying to piece together what he can from those first moments. Whilst it was possible she was as worn down as she may appear- it seemed doubtful that she would let him see that, especially on a meeting of her own making. And so, his internal logic settles on something closer to a tactical decision- something meant to emphasize the words she was saying- the idea of herself as frailer than she was. Or maybe it was simply his invasive paranoia, doing what it does best. "Violent lives do tend to be short ones, madamoiselle." As Quintessa's attention flickers towards the room, the Kensai takes a glance of his own. Where his office in Vailkrin, or the warriors guild, and even his former one in Xalious all held vestiges of a certain familiar disorder- there was a sort of sterility to his office in Larket. A rather purposeful cleanliness in part fostered by working from Vailkrin, and partially to prevent any details of his work slipping into anothers hands. A lesson learned largely due to Lanlan's tampering. Really, the only telltale sign that it was Kasyrs office rather than some nameless teachers- would be the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, and a filing cabinet, which doesn't quite close due to a protruding wine bottle. "I'm sure that's a sight some people would appreciate."

Quintessa, satisfied with the examination of the room, turns her eyes upon Kasyr before gliding over to occupy the seat before his desk, a wave of her hand shutting the door behind her as she takes a seat. “Sometimes I wonder if death wouldn’t be a mercy. I used to fear Vakmatharas’ Embrace. It drove me to do terrible things until I learned that there are things far worse.” She folds her hands upon her lap, her tiny, practiced smile still present. “So? You got my note? My idea is a little crazy, I admit, but I wanted to run it by you anyway…” Quintessa trails off, attempting to capture Kasyr’s curiosity before she continues.

Kasyr may have offered something approximating a sympathetic smile there, because even if the maudlin subject matter was perhaps tactical, there was a truth there that hit a bit too close to home. "I've begun to lose count of how many fates are worse than death, or might exacerbate that sense of finality." The memories were still like broken glass, a sort of mental static that seemed impenetrable save for when he walked Vailkrins streets - but one fact remained. He remembered something. "Well, it can't be crazier than marrying someone who swore to return in blood et fire once she was prepared, and with a partner likely plotting my death- possibly lurking in the wings for an excuse." That was about as close as Quintessa was going to get to enthusiasm, in large part because he spent long days having petitioners try and do the very same thing. Still, he hadn't gone straight to intimidation as a way of expediting the conversation- so, she was doing a fair bit better than most.

Quintessa’s memories of the things Caluss showed her, the things worse than death that she mentioned, were far too fresh and too painful for her to willingly revisit, but they lingered there in the back of her mind never going anywhere, reminders that she should cherish the time she has left. The next thing Kasyr says, however, causes a spike of amusement to draw a genuine smile from her. “It’s only crazy if your Lady Wife doesn’t take marriage pacts as seriously as I do.” She retorts, her exhaustion cast aside as she is reinvigorated by the verbal sparring. “Alliances are often the best way to quell civil unrest, but I’ve digressed. My aims tonight are a lot more humble…” She leans back, trying to recall the exact wording and terminology of Vailkrin’s feudal histories, of court positions and treatment of certain high-profile criminals. Quintessa had obviously been trying to figure out a way out of her exile desperately, but she would never admit how desperate she was, not to Kasyr especially. “It is very common for courts to have many positions filled by courtiers- allied houses, impressive lowborns, court hostages even. Some are considered an honor, like being Master-At-Arms or Seneschal or Royal Architect, some not so much, like the Court Jester or Cupbearer. There is one specific role which has a carveout for known criminals to fill however…” Quintessa can feel anxiety begin to squeeze around her throat, scared to even suggest she be allowed to return to Vailkrin for any time for any reason. “The Royal Executioner, or Headman, is a position that is often considered a punishment and while they serve that role they are considered temporarily absolved of their crimes. If I became this, I wouldn’t be allowed to live in the kingdom, would only be invited back on specific occasions and leave right afterward- You could even do that sword thing you did to make a portal- Please, just allow me to serve as the King’s Justice for the duration of my exile and I will prove a loyal servant.”

Kasyrs' gaze is languid, but he does still spare her a smirk, "Well. While I'm sure the logistics of a bedroom armistice have flickered through your mind a few times- I feel that es still far off." Her comment on alliances being a solid manner to quell unrest certainly does resonate, however- as does the near imminence of a certain press conference. Still, that's hardly here nor there- as her aspirations, at least in the short term, seem a fair bit more grounded. "A vassal to the crown, rather than a given house- which carries a certain stigma to it, but also showcases a certain sense of contrition. You're both showcasing a willingness to pay your debts to society for those who've decided you're guilty, but doesn't require you to necessarily say otherwise."It's certainly a more humble avenue than he would have expected."And it avoids you being forgotten by the public eye. 'Unpersoned', ou quoi-ce-soit." Altogether, likely the most logical route one could take. "Give me time to finish settling certain domestic affairs. Whilst my actions have lacked the pomp you associate with the office, I've been playing to my strengths- et there should be some good news for the city, neatly tied with a bow. That sort of resolution tends to make news that may normally receive mixed responses seem a fair bit more palatable." Having said that, a certain sly expression flicks across his features, "Though, there is something else that is poised to occur soon, that might further generate some goodwill. The Nasar Trial es due, at some point. You've had some long-running dealings with them, and the way they run their businesses. It never hurts to have more witnesses- especially given how...focused they were on your house."

Quintessa sighs in slight exasperation when Kasyr mentions her fantasizing about the potential logistics of their hypothetical liaison. “Oh my, a bedroom armistice- Tell me Kas: Do you think love can bloom even on a battlefield?” The changeling allows the conversation to shift back to the more serious points, Quintessa nodding along slowly as she listens to Kasyr. She had expected a resolute ‘no’ so his positive reception to the idea inspires renewed hope inside of her, a tiny bloom of warmth in the core of her cold, stoney heart. “O-of course, Your Grace,” The title slips out subconsciously, the same it did whenever she spoke to Valrae. “I understand this decision must be considered thoroughly.” When Kasyr smiles slyly at her, however, she raises her brow in curiosity. “Yes, the Nasars,” Her expression grows dire, “The ones who tried to assassinate me. I have to be honest, my intentions to become your executioner aren’t entirely altruistic- I’m hoping I get to be there when you lay judgment upon them. That’s my sole selfish intention… That and I’m just… homesick.”

Kasyr might have contemplated the joking question with a bit more severity than was intended, something about it rankling at some thought or memory, but it did little to veer him of course. For his own part, he's surprised that she's willing to handle the delay with patience- given her past desires for decisive responses. Her use of the title is more jarring, however- something that he impulsively wants to correct, and yet, it simultaneously serves as a barrier, and one that seems almost prudent to maintain for the time being. "Well. They've certainly done a more-than-adequate job of tying the noose for you. The details might even stretch the limits of your bleaker appetites." They'd certainly infuriated the Kensai enough to ensure that Colette's stay was a miserable and isolated experience. "In any case, I appreciate you contacting me with this. Maybe we can figure this all out in the future. Oh, et do keep me posted on both the rebel situation, and your...wife?" That was what the papers had said. "I forgot to offer my congratulations, given all the recent...trials."

Quintessa raises her eyebrows, wondering just what House Nasar had done in their shadow-war to control the black market. “It sounds like they might have devised… creative ways of surmounting my ruthlessness. And Colette Nasar is in your custody?” Quintessa might have already known the answer before she asked, quickly moving on to ask another question. “Might I be so bold to ask for your mercy? Not for myself, but for a member of House Nasar… Her name is Blaire Voltreyaux, she’s a member of the Necromancer’s Guild. I don’t know how she got mixed up with House Nasar but she isn’t the same as the rest of their ilk. She deserves special consideration.” When the subject shifts to the rebels, Quintessa nods her head in acknowledgement, “Of course, they haven’t spoken to me since the last but I suspect I’ll hear from him soon.” Finally Quintessa’s gaze flickers down to her engagement ring, turning it over in the dim light of the room, inspecting the emerald. “Fiancee,” she corrects, “We asked for each other's hands the night we both became Magisters, in front of the guild and their guests. I had hoped to be wed in the Dark Forest but…” Quintessa sighs, a deep sadness creeping over her heart, “It shall be an opulent event regardless.”

Kasyr presses his tongue to his cheek as Tessa poses her questions, though he remains quiet until her request. -That- at least cues a reaction, an almost incredulous squint, "You, of anyone, asking that a member of Nasar be granted clemency certainly does bring me pause, madamoiselle." Perhaps it was due to her ties to the necromancers guild, but were it solely that- the Nasarites death would likely serve just as well, given it would free up access to their research, "Mm. Well- I'll have them called before me, to inquire as to her circumstances, and what her plans will be in the very likely event that her house collapses. It -would- be helpful to have someone from that house willing to bear witness to it." When the subject veers back to the personal, the Kensai does his best not to look uncomfortable- though something akin to an awkward guilty expression might have appeared. "Well, at least wherever it is, won't be rampant with refugees, J'imagine." Rather than allow the topic to linger, his hand moves over to one of the papers he'd set aside, "That said- was this addressed to your satisfaction. . .? Et should I expect your significant other to come pay me a visit in upcoming days?"

Quintessa sighs as she nods her head, completely understanding Kasyr’s reaction. “Yes, I know, just… speak to her. Find out if she was involved in Colette’s schemes or not. If she was I will not expect leniency but if she is innocent of their crimes please spare her. Blaire possesses a rare gift I do not wish to see snuffed from this world.” That was honestly it. Quintessa wasn’t politically motivated or even motivated to steal her research, Quintessa was simply trying to preserve a unique form of magic simply because she saw beauty in it. Sentimental not even for Blaire, a woman she barely knew, but for what she could do with the threads of fate. The talk of a potential venue free from refugees does little to cheer her up but she nods her head anyway as the conversation moves on. “I have not spoken to Karasu about you yet,” she admits, “But if she plans on visiting you I will make sure you are properly warned.” Quintessa thinks back to the note she left. There was one more thing; “My song.” That was the last thing she had on her mind, “Although this isn’t the place to sing it to you… Are you even interested? I wrote it while I was recovering from my chest injury and Kanna has been insisting I focus more on my creative endeavors. She says that will make me happy.”

Kasyr understands it's cold consolation, but it's the only thing he could think of. Regardless, when she moves onto Karasu- he's not overly surprised, especially given that Quintessa had espoused a certain degree of trepidation. Finding out just how volatile the demi-feline had become, was apt to be educational. "Well. I'll endeavour to address the situation with a lighter touch than I would normally use. -If- it comes to pass" Also probably not the most comforting remark. But it was something. Admittedly, he was somewhat surprised when the topic of a song crops back up, especially given the specific circumstances surrounding its creation, "Morbidly, if you mean the inspiration. I can't imagine it's going to be too kind." Still, it sounded important enough to her- and there's something about the second part of the statement, a pursuit of happiness. Something untethered from ambition, or the bleaker things that had defined them asofar, which has the Kensai nudging the paper back to its place in the pile, "Well, at least one of us ought to be. Go ahead."

Quintessa shrugs at the mention of the measure of the song's kindness. “It’s complicated,” she admits, “Like all my emotions. Good and bad. Bittersweet- you’ll see…” The changeling stands from her seat, stepping back behind her chair as she inhales slowly, trying to get over the stage fright she was feeling. She had sung before crowds of people but somehow it being Kasyr she was performing for made her all that more motivated not to muck it up. “Okay, here goes…” Quintessa imagines a drum beat in her head, her foot tapping ever so slightly out of sight behind her robes. There are a few moments of silence and then she starts, her voice low and melodic, dark and sad, desperation and regret mixed with resentment and defiance. As Quintessa’s fae magic sparks in reaction to her singing, Kasyr would perhaps be the first person who could fully experience the depth of the emotions she put into her songs simply because of his empathic ability. “I feeeeel the kick drum- Dull hum from your darksome devouring eyyyyeessss… I'm craving an excuse, dumb danger to let loose the dogs to fight, IIIII…” She pauses to inhale, the latent bardic magic intermingling with her aura, causing the room to dim as sparkling mist obscures the walls and ceiling, creating the illusion of a cloudy, moonless night sky in his office. When next she sings her pitch changes, much higher than before, her voice likely carrying beyond this room. “I can and I cannot see… Not choose not to be…Carrion comfort me. Carrion comfort meeeee~”

Kasyr, perhaps more in tune than music than most, gently taps the desk alongside the unheard beat- subconsciously helping to set the tempo. That said, he's somewhat more active insofar as his listening, leaning forward to catch both the spoken and unspoken parts of her song- a private performance that was slowly carrying outside of the room. For a moment, there's a temptation to offer some glib comment, to disrupt the atmosphere that's weaving together- but even he's not willing to do her that disservice. Not now, when she's allowing herself to be vulnerable like this- sadly sincere.

Quintessa finds herself swaying to the music inside of her mind, arms raised in a slight dance as she bobs her head, continuing into the next verse, feeling her passive anger swell up and lead her through the next part of the song, quicker, more impatient, like she has far too much to say in so little time, but somehow it fits perfectly with the beat. There is a place for everything she wants to say. “Was it me or me that fought him? Licking at his lion limbs. Wring the world black- Springs on my back. Teeth tearing at the skin. Bleeding a blundering mess. Beetles and worms in his chest. Sorry seeder- Bottom feeder. Nipping at what ankle's left…” Quintessa looks upward, the magical clouds parting, shedding green and crimson light upon the changeling like spotlights as the anger inside of her melts away, decaying like carrion, transforming into resentment, rotten and sweet. After a couple of seconds of following the music in her head Quintessa parts her lips to sing the final verse. “All you wanted was a little taste. Won't let a single sinew go to waste. You should stop, you know, you know you should, but nothing else could make me feel this good… Voices howling and it's out of control- Until you're nothing but an animal.” The singer closes her eyes, her head still head high, her magical light shining down on her. “Carrion comfort me.” The resentment disappears, leaving behind nothing but sorrow and regret.. “Carrion comfort meeeee~” As the final note echos out, Quintessa sinks to the floor, exhaustion gripping her, weighing her down. The last word of her song echoes into silence and her magic fades, the moons and the clouds and the starry night all receding back where it came from.

Kasyr's tapping stops somewhere along the way, as he starts to linger too long on the lyrics, his mind flickering between the present, and the moments it encompassed- hers as she tells them, him as he remembers. Where her song is full of passions, of fierce heats, and the bitter coals it leaves behind- he's a cold stillness, a melancholy that does not alleviate even at what sweetness might be found. As the changeling sinks to the ground, it is that same stillness that greets her - and a queer scrutiny that seems still adrift. One that does pass after a few more moments, leaving the swordsman glancing off at one wall uncomfortably- the tip of his tongue running over his canine as he tested a word, found it wanting- and settled on silence.

Quintessa finally opens her eyes, still seated on the floor. She feels intoxicated even though she’s (mostly) sober. She inhales through her nose, unsure if she should have sung that song to him. She feels small and pathetic, like a child again, so she forces herself to stand. She reaches out to grab the chair, pulling herself up to stand behind it as she searches Kasyr for a reaction, her sapphire and golden eyes unblinking, petrified. ‘What does his silence mean?’ she wonders, terrified she just made an awful mistake.

Kasyr feels a sense of relief as Quintessa gathers herself, easing a sense of pressure that had briefly started to well- a shift which also reflected in the stiffness in his posture ebbing bit by bit. Still, it takes a few more awkward moments to sift over what to say- over what would be correct to say, until an idea finally feels right. "If I should inspire any more songs, I hope they're happier ones. For you." A smile that's not quite there, a gaze that doesn't quite meet, looking inwards more than anything. "For what it's worth. I am sorry." A poor consolation, an expression emblematic of the words echoed in the exams at his side.

Quintessa almost laughs but it comes out as a gasp, the back of her hand pressing up against her mouth as she feels tears build in her eyes. She had promised herself she would never cry for him again but it was turning out to be too big of a promise to keep, even to herself. Another claim she would have to walk back and eat. She never expected she’d ever hear those words from him. “So am I,” She turns away, not wanting him to see the silent tears streaming down her face, though the way her voice strains likely gives it away. “I didn’t mean for things to go so… Wrong. I’ll fix everything I broke, I promise, and then maybe… one day I’ll get to write a happier song about you.” More tears are flowing now. She doesn’t think that day will ever come, believing that some things were perhaps beyond her ability to repair. Lost and forever out of her reach. “I should probably not… take up much more of your time. I know how busy you are.”

Kasyr may not be able to see the tears, but it takes active effort to filter out those feelings, to find his proper bearings, and take up those papers with a semblance of professionalism. "We both have things to do. But peut-etre, a bien tot, won't necessarily feel odd to say." And perhaps it always would. What happened could not be erased- but all the same. It didn't mean it needed to be repeated. Kasyr lets out a sigh- and in that same breath departs- little to signal his disappearance, save the faint sound of a seam tearing, and a subtle shift in the air. Quintessa, for better or worse, is left alone to process her thoughts.