RP:Until a Crown

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

Summary: As the guild begins its controversial journey to the west, Lionel introduces Krice to Quintessa whilst simultaneously handing the latter a sudden and questionably-quick promotion. After committing himself to aid in the cause against the coming of Xicotl, Krice expresses in quiet confidence to Lionel his suspicions of Quintessa's true nature.

Snowless Training Yard

Krice was dressed in his usual black garb but this time wore robes as well, which protected him from the deeper chill so far out west. Katana strapped against his right hip, the warrior was assisting a group of soldiers with the task of loading supplies onto their wagon, retrieving two of each item where most other men picked up one. It certainly helped press things along, having an evolved human to assist. Once this fourth wagon was full, he offered a nod to the other men and turned away, stepping deeper into Training Yard on his own patrolling trajectory.

Lionel chanced to realize that one of the people presently loading supplies onto wagons had strikingly silver hair. Even with Krice’s back turned to him and some twenty-odd yards away, the Catalian’s suspicions were confirmed from a cursory glance at the silver-haired enigma’s build. He intended to visit his friend, but first he needed to settle a dispute -- and a particularly urgent dispute at that. “Please listen,” he spoke over irritated soldiers and confused refugees alike. The homeless who had been allowed to stay at the Royal Academy of Aramoth over the current winter were justified in that confusion, for everything was happening so quickly and without fine-tuned management expertise Lionel felt trapped, if not powerless, to prevent the rapidity of it all. Orders had been given to move initial supplies through the mountain range and into the land of rivers and canyons out upon the Western Frontier, and now everyone stationed at the Academy was rushing to meet the occasion. For the homeless not to have questioned their second relocation would have been far more surprising. “Please,” Lionel continued. The irritated soldiers, who had tried unsuccessfully to alleviate the refugees’ concerns, gave in and relented. The beleaguered refugees fixed Lionel with a suspicious glare but simmered down as well. “I know this can’t be easy for you. I want you all to understand that not a single one of you is under any obligation to do anything whatsoever that I tell you to do. Just because you’ve stayed here does not make you anyone’s subjects. You’re as free today as you were three months ago, and in three months time you’ll be just as free. If you do not wish to make this trip with us, you may stay here and the Academy staff will look after you. I simply cannot promise you’ll have all the resources you’ll need. If you’d rather risk the open world again and try your luck somewhere else, I’ll provide for you as best I can, but I can’t promise much.” He was interrupted by an old man in rags who swore in a guttural native tongue before replying in Common. “We thank you and yours for this much-needed hospitality. Do not think us ungrateful. But we were not given sufficient notice of this newfound arrangement. We have children who remain sick despite your nurses’ efforts; men and women too weak to walk. And now, to hear it from you, you’re full of empty promises.” Others nodded along with the man. The soldiers fumed further still. “I can offer you one promise and one promise only,” Lionel said. “If you ride our wagons to the new settlement, you won’t merely be given the best aid we can offer -- you’ll be given the chance to make something of yourselves again. There will be a great need for you out there. But there will also be plenty more we can do to help those among you who cannot suit that need. I promise you the word called ‘opportunity,’ Nathanial. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll give you a chance to ponder all that while I eat.” Lionel walked away, confident in the tone of the murmurs he held behind him. Toward Krice he went, his expression relieved.

Quintessa had arrived just in time to hear Lionel's message, her Golden Cockatrice easily trudging through snow drifts and pitfalls along the way up to the Aramoth Academy. The changeling knew that all the men would be packing up and getting ready to head to the new base, but she felt like her time was best used figuring out how to destroy Xicotl. Since the day she'd given her speech and told everyone of the horrors they faced, Quintessa had tirelessly worked to decode the mystery around it, calling upon all her allies near and far. At last the hex blade had news to report; The Syndicate of Shadows would be willing to offer help in this endeavor. However, Quintessa knew that she couldn't speak out loud about the secret network so instead she came up with a clever ruse. Magik, the co-leader and long time friend of the changeling, enjoyed a membership in the Mage's Guild- This gave her the proper out she needed to hide the Syndicate's existence. As her mount, Bloodbeak, slowly paces behind the group that listened to Lionel, Quintessa lifts the tinted goggles from her face and allows her mismatches eyes to fall upon him. She waited until he was finished to dismount her bird, letting him roam freely along the fringes on the Frostmawian stronghold while the odd girl follows after the Imperator. Quintessa was completely unaware that he was headed over to a man who was a stranger to her; The seasoned warrior known only as Krice. "They seem discontent," the hex blade says as she stalks closer, pointing out what should have been obvious, "You'd think they'd be happier to get out of the cold, wouldn't you? Ungrateful gits..." Quintessa, as usual, doesn't care if anyone overheard her. By now she probably had a reputation for her lack of concern for other people's feelings.

Krice observed from afar Lionel's attempts to placate the unsettled masses, moving slowly at the fringes. People were upset and that was understandable, but little could be done about arrangements already in place. They had to face the inevitable and accept it or move on. His features were guarded and some might even say emotionless, but there was a shadow of compassion in his eyes as stragglers from the group glanced at him on his way by. Most of them were too upset to stop and talk with him, but an older man turned from his wife to utter to the warrior, "How much longer will we have to endure this? We've moved across three camps already." His distress was clear but he wasn't disrespectful. The enigmatic swordsman paused to address the older male, his tone relaxed despite his stolid disposition. " Hopefully this will be the last time for a while. We're all going to a place that's a bit safer and secure. It's what we have to do in times of war." Move from peaceful place to peaceful place when danger arrives at your campstep. The older man seemed placated enough but he spoke in hushed tones with his wife and looked for direction from official organizers, while Krice turned to meet with the approaching Lionel - and a less-familiar face at his heels. Taking a casual step to the side before he halted, he aligned his gaze more directly with the woman and sought to reply to her hushed words, picked up from the thrum of activity by his sensitive ears. " Of course they're discontent. The life of a refugee is difficult." He was looking past Lionel at the woman now. " Stay your tongue, or you'll upset them anew." And Lionel's efforts would be for nought.

Lionel should have foreseen the inevitable clashing of fire and ice that matched the first words from Quintessa which Krice would overhear, and the first words the warrior would offer the woman in return. He really should have. But he didn’t. “It’s all gouda,” he said with a sigh. “People play the hands they’re dealt, Tessa, and different people react in different ways. I think many of them -are- grateful, but they’re also weary and wary. I can’t say as I blame them.” He offered a trademark shrug and blew melting snow from the shoulder of his black button-up. “Thanks for always showing up when needed, Krice. This is Quintessa, whose name I just shortened to Tessa for the first time, and undoubtedly not the last.” Lionel made room for a passing wagon and gave a cheeky thumbs-up at the driver, whose red hair and freckled face made her look not entirely dissimilar from Penelope. A timely reminder of the healer, in fact. “I heard you’ve been offering training lessons to Penelope. That’s swell of you; I can think of no one better-suited.” It couldn’t be more obvious that Lionel had no idea about recent goings-on on that front.

Quintessa halted, her spike-heeled boots digging into the snowless earth as she turns her head to look at the silver haired man. The changeling's lips part to speak but she remains silent, her blue and hazel eyes flickering up and down his body quickly, sizing him up. 'Who was this man who dared speak to her like this?' she wanted to ask, but her hesitation gives Lionel the chance to explain to her further who he is."Krice." she says slowly, enjoying the way the name felt in her mouth. "Quintessa, Quin, Tessa, Tess. I've been called many variants of my name. These days I usually introduce myself as Quintessa Dragana, Baroness and Warden of the Dark Forest however... But you say the folk here are refugees?" Was there a war going on that she didn't know about? "No matter. Either they will accept our help or they will die in the freezing wasteland. There isn't much of an alternative for them presently." The plight of these people didn't mean much to the hex blade and in a much more bleak sense, as a student of necromancy, many of these people were more valuable to her as cadavers than mouths to feed. But this was not Quintessa's concern; She had a much more important job to do. "And if we cannot stop 'The Feast' then they will all die anyway. That's why I came here. I have more to report about our involvement in the Sage Forest if you have a moment to speak with me."

Krice's eyes drifted not to Lionel when he spoke, but to the cockatrice lurking at the fringes of camp, just past Quintessa in his line of sight. The creature intrigued him enough that his attention lingered, but the silence following the other male's words drew his focus inward once more. He hadn't offered to train Penelope, but rather, " She nagged. I eventually relented. It's... a bit complicated now." Thanks to a certain little argument born of what her perceived was unjust judgment from the woman. Anyway, he was here for other reasons. With Quintessa's 'accept help or die' words he agreed: " That's right, but they don't need to hear someone -say- it. Makes everyone's job a little harder." Unruly refugees and other such citizens fought back against the establishment if they thought they weren't being cared for. Regardless, these three had other things to talk about. " Quintessa." An equally musical name with its own flow. He didn't dwell. "Kasyr's student." Here the warrior fell silent to listen to the woman's 'report', sparing a glance at Lionel for added input. Any new information he could receive from either person would be useful.

“Refugees, aye,” Lionel confirmed. “Ask six of them which war they lost their livelihoods in -- and their families, in plenty of cases -- and you’ll get at least four separate answers.” Briefly, he examined the snow beneath his boots. It was almost pure, save for spots of dirt crusting the edges. Yet there was nothing truly pure about this place, nor about the guild, nor about himself. “I do what I can for the world, Tessa, and in the process I have at times made matters that much worse for those I have sought to protect. This is the only way I know how to atone. They’ll complain if they want, and they’re free to go as they please, but they will not be abandoned.” Had he been given further information on the issue, Lionel would have pressed Krice for details about the complications he’d been suffering with Penelope. It was inevitable that in due time the Catalian would remember the warrior’s reticence when Lionel eventually learned the details, though it was equally inevitable that he wouldn’t blame Krice in the least for refraining from providing those details today. “Right, then. Enough of all that. I always have time for you, Tessa, especially when your research may make or break the survival of the very realm as we know it.” He winked unceremoniously at Krice as if the two of them were in on some joke he was quite certain Krice would recognize simply wasn’t the case, but then, it was typical of Lionel to fill the chill air with awkward flourishes. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard as of yet, Krice, but a couple of these wagons out here aren’t headed west. They’re headed southeast, to the Southern Sage. In four days, the Warrior’s Guild is launching an investigation into a chasm in the earth that has recently formed by way of all sorts of…” He scratched his stubble and paused. “Well, we have a term in Old Catalian for it -- ‘hocus pocus.’ Magical absurdities from ancient artifacts is this particular flavor of hocus pocus, and we have reason to believe -- very strongly, at that -- that some form of possibly primordial abomination is planning on transforming surface-dwellers such as ourselves into thralls for its own purposes and then dining on everyone who’s left. Suffice it to say, we can’t let that happen, so in true ‘me’ fashion, I’ve gone ahead and championed the quasi-suicidal cause; the aforementioned abomination, called Xicotl by ancient maesters with a talent for prophecy, lives deep underground so we need to hop on down there and assess the situation.”

Bloodbeak scraped at the ground every once in a while, digging at the soft earth with his massive talons before stomping off to a new location. Even with the plated metal visor over his eyes, the cockatrice could still sense when someone came too close to him, and the aggressive bird hisses a warning at anyone besides Quintessa who tried to come near. Standing at three meters, however, very few would make such a mistake more than once least they lose a hand or a few fingers. When Krice mentions Kasyr her eyes light up and her cheeks start to burn a little, embarrassed at what her teacher might have told people about her. "Master Kasyr mentioned me?" she asks, pulling her black and red striped scarf up to hide her blush. "N-nevermind that... My report-" Quintessa returns her attention to Lionel, pushing away her slightly flustered feeling. "Very nice shorthand of my research, by the way- but it isn't 'hocus pocus'. Xicotl has a means of controlling the minds of people, there's nothing absurd about it. What's worse is that it has had many millennia to build up thralls of all races and backgrounds. Even one of the three of us could be a thrall. However, things seem most focused in the Sage so I called upon an ally I have there. His name is Magikrios Lyastri, he's a ranger who has been my mentor since I first joined the Mage's Guild last year. When I told him about the looming threat in the Kelay area he promised to do everything he could to aid our cause, which includes providing the service of a few men who can help us scout out the chasm. It isn't quite like gaining the full support of the Mage's Guild but as we further uncover the truth many more will flock to our banner. Hopefully, anyway. Xicotl concerns all of Lithrydel, not just the Warrior's Guild and not just the Sage."

Krice was attentive to Lionel when he spoke, but something about Quintessa occasionally drew the warrior's attention. He stared pensively at the woman, noted her bashfulness following his mention of her 'master', and then joined what information she added to that of which Lionel had spoken and noted the differences to more deeply glean their situation. At length, the warrior broke his silence to offer his own input. " I know of Magik," he said first, followed by, " Kasyr told me about Xicotl and two other upcoming threats, but it seems like Xicotl's the most pressing." At that juncture, Krice would seek to draw Lionel's attention with a glance as he took a step away, excusing himself from Quintessa momentarily. He shared a quiet word with the other male before turning his focus to Kasyr's student again. " I had heard whispers of the investigation but no details until now. Will you be joining the Warrior's Guild on their expedition to Sage?" Clearly she had at least -studied- the events happening around Kelay regardless of coworking with the Warrior's guild. Would she join them out on the field?

Krice whispered to Lionel, "Surely the Xicotl doesn't know about my... 'kind'. I'm a little different from normal humans and we're not common at all."

Lionel chuckled dryly at Quintessa’s corrections. “Your scientific exactitudes and knack for recognizing that few things the Warrior’s Guild handles are inherently Warrior’s Guild matters alone are handy traits to have around, so here, have this.” With all the pomp and circumstance of a cat licking their paw after a meal, Lionel handed the changeling an officer’s pin -- blue slashed with white in a rectangular shape -- officially designating her as lieutenant. “As of today, you’ve got the authority to do lieutenant-y things, including but not limited to leading small teams of soldiers out on scouting operations.” He tilted his attention back toward Krice as if nothing at all had transpired, nodding in affirmation toward the warrior’s whisper -- it did seem unlikely. “As for Magik, can’t say I’ve met the guy, but he sounds alright to me. I can send a bored dignitary to go shake hands with him after I’ve eaten bison stew and drank some ify ale.” It was obvious that Lionel was feasting for food after going through so many motions to help the refugees feel secure and ensure that -- as he liked to call it -- ‘informed chaos’ -- was kept as the caravans were loaded and sent out to camps. “If you can, I’d love to have your sword by my side again, my friend. Meet us in the Southern Sage at the appointed day and time and hop in for what’s sure to be an enlightening trip down a shadowy maze filled with who-knows-whats and better-off-not-knowings.”

Quintessa was about to answer Krice, her lips already parting away from her pointed teeth when Lionel spoke first. The changeling's mouth hangs open as she eyes the officer's pin and her sylphlike hands reach out to clutch the promotional symbol. "Lieutenant?" Quintessa was the proudest changeling in all Lithrydel at this moment. "Of course, Imperator- This will increase how much progress I can make on a day-to-day basis. Thank you!" With Lionel's request of Krice's presence during their first exploration, Quintessa nods her head in agreement. "Yes, we can use every capable fighter we can, that's why I'll also be joining. There are many ancient and terrifying things down there in between us and the things we need to figure out. It will be dangerous but this work needs to be done."

Krice arched a brow at Lionel's presentation of the badge to Quintessa. Some might perceive it as envy or even jealousy, but really, the look he gave the other male was one of guarded incredulity. Still, he shored up his reaction in favour of keeping their conversation focused on the upcoming issues. "Very well," was his accepting reply. " I'll meet you both there." Along with whoever else deemed themselves skilled enough for a jaunt underground. " I'd like to talk with you about something before then," he directed to Lionel, thereafter noting Quintessa's promotion pride with a nod and a seemingly genuine, " Congratulations. Make it count."

Ice-Paved Street

Lionel gave Krice an earnest shrug -- his little way of confirming to his friend that he was all ears as always. Though he wondered if the warrior might appreciate it if it were Lionel’s ears and Lionel’s ears alone. Surveying the hustle and bustle of the training yard prompted the Imperator to cant his chin toward the gates. “Let’s take a stroll.” His stomach growled disruptively but food could always wait when someone like Krice had something to discuss. For as long as he had known the man, Lionel hadn’t once been asked to converse with Krice on a subject that was remotely frivolous. Lionel led the way to the iron gates, which had already been swung wide open for the day’s outgoing traffic. Even the ice-paved street -- almost always a place of relative silence -- had Warrior’s Guild members shouting back and forth as they guided wagons wayward of the Royal Academy. Finding a quieter spot near an old spruce tree, Lionel nodded and spoke. “Alright, then. What’s up?”

Krice moved with Lionel away from the busier Training Yard with it in mind to converse quietly, so he did not begrudge him the decision to seek a less frequented location. He paused just outside the other man's reach and locked crimson eyes onto their counterparts, his expression thoughtful. " Who is Quintessa? How do you know her?"

Lionel had a feeling these were loaded questions. He had sensed Krice’s apprehension concerning Quintessa back in the yard, and truth be told he couldn’t argue against it. “Five weeks ago,” he started, “I had a hit put out on me.” Was it worth it to explain that it was his own sister who had put that hit out on him? The same sister he hadn’t seen since prior to his abduction by Kahran, until she fell from a roof here at the Academy last week and insulted him in the middle of a pivotal call-to-arms? The answer was probably yes, but Lionel ignored the practical decision in favor of an impulse to ignore the particulars. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Krice -- far from it -- but he simply did not trust himself. Once he had spoken the words aloud that Khitti Herzegler, the highest-ranking member of the Warrior’s Guild sans himself, and far more importantly, the closest thing he had to family, had tried to kill him… ‘Then it becomes real,’ Lionel thought to himself mid-grimace. ‘And then it has to be addressed.’ No. Better to let it pass. He knew for a fact that Khitti had withdrawn the bounty she had posted. Whatever it was she thought he was supposed to learn from something so sinister, the moment had passed. “Quintessa was one of several to seek my head.” Lionel chuckled dryly. “Not exactly a sterling first encounter, I know. And she doesn’t inspire much confidence in capable benevolence at first blush. Or second. Possibly even fifth. But she was smart enough to work together with me to stop the other would-be claimants to this Catalian skull through which I presently do speak, and it wasn’t long until I sensed she’s less cruel than she likes us to think. There’s an astonishing hunger to do -- to act, to take up a cause, to *be* -- and I believe that a girl of her unique talents can be taught to savor the fruits of those urges in a positive way. She has potential, Krice. I want to believe she can grow into a valuable ally.” There was a solemn, meaningful pause. “If I’m wrong about her… I’ll be the one to handle it.”

Krice listened attentively to Lionel's reply, focusing on the initial bombshell with a particular note of interest. If he knew of the identity behind his would-be killer (the one who had hired Quintessa in the first place), he didn't allude to it. Instead, he allowed the other man his want for privacy in that regard and opted to keep the conversation about the little now-Lieutenant. The warrior's expression was calm but pensive, as if he didn't quite understand his comrade's decision-making. " Assassination-attempt aside... Five weeks isn't a long time to know someone before promoting her to Lieutenant. She may not strictly be evil but there's something about her that doesn't sit right." His left brow twitched into a quizzical frown that harboured subtle hints of concern. " What if her hunger to act is a hunger to destroy?" Krice lifted a hand to stay a response, mostly for Lionel's sake that he need not repeat himself. " You said you'd handle it. Just... stay vigilant."

“I will.” Lionel exhaled and watched a cloud of his own breath drifting off into the air. He leaned against the spruce and rubbed his right hand over his face to keep the appendage safe from numbness in the quickly-cooling weather. “I don’t blame you in the slightest for raising a brow at this. That’s why I’ve hand-picked any soldiers who happen to fall under her -- I’ll stress, quite limited -- command operations. They’ve been drilled on her apparent combat capabilities and they’ll be testing her more than she’ll be testing them. It’s not that she hasn’t earned recognition already, but I wouldn’t have promoted her so soon if I didn’t need to verify she possesses the potential for the better sort of path. Quintessa seems to me to be at a crossroads in her young life; I hesitate to use such vague and cliched terms, Krice, but it’s a matter of good and evil popping up on her proverbial shoulders. You catch me?” One of the last wagons bound for the west passed them by, its horses trotting softly upon the snow. “I was there once. Right where she is today. If circumstances had been just passingly different, I might have needed to have been cut down. I’d like to see that fate avoided for someone as clever, studious, and gifted as she.” Lionel shoved himself away from the spruce and crossed his arms, his azure eyes suddenly serious. “I’ll be the one to do it to her if push comes to shove. In the meantime, let’s hope for the best.”

Krice didn't want to cause Lionel to think ill of his new lieutenant, especially given her proclivity for usefulness - and clearly she had a studied mind. Still, he couldn't shake the very sense that something was more permanently dark about the woman than a simple crossroads in life would explain. His expression reflected his skepticism but he opted not to warn Lionel again; both men knew of the potential Quintessa harboured to swing into more dangerous territory at this point in her life, and the warrior didn't need to talk in circles about it. Instead, he lifted his chin at an angle conveying curiosity and asked, " Has she talked much about what magic she utilizes? Anything about -herself- specifically?"

Lionel shook his head. “Yes… and no. I’ve seen her magic firsthand and Rorin has reason to be cynical about it. Which, as it happens, he is. Ask her outright and she’ll outright state it: she practices necromancy. She’s even the heir-apparent to House Dragana. Make no mistake, my friend; I know how dangerous a balancing act my decision today entails. But I also know, and likely better than most, that the style of one’s battle technique and the ways in which they act don’t instantly cast them as wicked to the core. I’ve probably known more nefarious sorts than seemingly righteous ones who have done the right thing in the end. Besides,” he continued as he stretched, “I’m more comfortable around surface-level scornful than surface-level decency. Take Queen Josleen, for example. Cunningness is a good thing. Her brand is not. But she’s sweet as a rose in spring until you dig a little deeper. Or, well, until a crown is placed upon her head.” He shrugged. “The open practitioner of necromancy with ties to vengeful vampiric bloodlines, on the other hand -- they’ve got far less to hide. The closet full of skeletons is already open, so I’m peering, and taking stock of whose skeletons those happen to be.”

Krice nodded at a couple separate intervals of Lionel's response, though when he mentioned Josleen, the warrior mumbled a wry, "Not partial to that one." In the interests of allowing the conversation to progress, he said nothing more about the cunning woman. Adopting a wry smirk that almost touched the dimple in his left cheek, he muttered an agreeing, " I'd trust the upfront evil-doer over the backstabbing sweetie-pie any day." Lionel was correct in that regard. " If you need help with her, let me know. Her practice of necromancy explains what I was sensing, at least."

Lionel’s stomach doth protest overmuch. All this talk of survivalist contingencies against potential threats from within had done nothing to curb his appetite. “I’m late for a very important date with the mess hall. Will you be joining me? I think the chef said something about garlic. Several times more than strictly necessary. A bit worrisome, really.”

Krice squinted thoughtfully at Lionel and heard again the evidence of his hunger. Whoops. A shake of the head preceded his reply to the invitation, though he paused to spare a bemused thought for the garlic-loving chef. " No. I'm gonna stay out here a little longer - quench my need to patrol." He released a quiet 'heh' of amusement over his inherent urge to ensure the safety of all things all of the time. " Take care of yourself. I guess we'll see each other in Sage in a few days?"

Lionel smirked at that. “That’s why you’re the best,” he said conclusively. “I’ll see you then.” Nothing more needed saying.

Krice adopted a wry smirk and lifted a hand to see off Lionel with a two-fingered salute.