RP: The Worried & The Weary

Part of the Welcome To The End of Eras Arc

Summary: Quintessa seeks out Kasyr during the last day of her stay in Vailkrin, both to get answers about what happened at the ill-fated summit, and to see how he's faring.

Vailkrin Council Room

As the highest point of the castle, this room has the best view of Vailkrin one can achieve without taking flight. With that in mind, the room's walls are panes of stained glass. Through some magical means, the glass doesn't discolor the view for individuals within the room, but it doesn't allow for those that manage to fly up to the windows from the outside to peer in. Similar to the chandelier in the great hall, lanterns float high overhead near the ceiling, their light produced by glowing stones encased within. As is common with many rooms for planning and strategy, the largest and primary table is the focal point of the council room, and a map of Vailkrin with lands beyond it is burned into the surface rather than carved. The markings on the round table are a bit crude, but they're kept up to date by swapping the rounded panel the map is burned into out for a fresh map as needed. In the interest of maintaining clear lines of sight from every wall of windows, the large table doubles as a bookshelf., with the entire stone base of the table doubling as shelving for so many books and paperwork that what don't fit in the shelves are piled neatly either on the table or underneath it. Smaller tables are set at the four cardinal directions, but all seats are pulled to the main table for meetings. Here the sound of music within the castle is clearest, as if the sounds of the City of Undead have traveled and transformed into melodies that can only be heard within the room.

Quintessa had made the rounds around Vailkrin, visiting Black Library, the necropolis and the Forsaken Tree. She even took off her shadow-stepping boots when she visited the Dark Forest to feel its cursed soil between her toes. She drank in the energy of this place, quenched the thirst of her soul and recharged herself with the twisted magic that lingered in her home forest. Quintessa even took a stroll through Cobweb Keep, the new name of her old fortress which still lay in partial ruin, watching with quiet acceptance as the spiders she once tamed and extracted of silk made this castle their new home. But her time here was beginning to draw short. The peace summit the night before had not gone well- terribly in fact, and she still needed to speak to Kasyr about the aftermath.

Returning to Vailkrin’s castle, Quintessa pops by her room to change into loose, ebony and silver silk robes, something comfortable that she could roam the castle in. She needed to find the king and make him clarify what had taken place, help the changeling make sense of things, and the first place she would look is the council chamber, which last time Quintessa had visited looked more like his office. How far she gets or where she ends up finding Kasyr she can hardly begin to guess, but she has to try.

Kasyr's still in his office, which, in turn, is still in disarray. What attempts have been made to tidy it are haphazard at best- the crumpled in filing cabinet has since been shuffled over to a corner of the room, its distorted C shape allowing it to awkwardly fit. That said, the most difficult thing to ignore, is the aisle that's been made of empty coffee mugs and whiskey glasses- a singular pathway, which is only mildly populated by broken glass.

A meaty -thunk- punctuates Quintessa's arrival at the door, another scalpel added to the pile embedded in a poster of Macon on the wall, though one would be hard-pressed to discern any trace of the initial picture. Which might be an additional cause for concern, because- while Quintessa may have worried that she'd be stopped, the relative absence of servitors in this section of the castle, despite the presence of them elsewhere is peculiar, to say the least.

Quintessa gently raps upon the door to announce that she is coming in before she slips through the threshold, an almost concerned expression on her pale, unpainted features. There is no anger or resentment coming from her, nor does she throw any accusations at the man. She simply comes in and starts to clean up the glass, a simple prestidigitation cantrip sweeping it all away into a neat little pile before she turns to look at the poster of Macon, or rather what was left of it, and the scalpels that penetrated it. “Hmm,” Quintessa doesn’t know how to start, but she’s already beginning to see things more clearly just seeing the aftermath. “So that…” She doesn’t want to say it. She doesn’t need to. “Do you maybe want to… Tell me what you’re thinking about?” She tries to make the suggestion sound as gentle as possible, not trying to make it seem like she was prying for more information to leverage against him. At this juncture, even if she was interested in betraying him she wouldn’t need to trick him to do it.

Kasyr hears the door open and finds himself hastily sitting up- something which causes him to bang his head against the edge of his desk. Almost in tandem, the drawer he'd been fishing through is pulled out from its moorings, spilling a combination of whiskey bottles, government papers, and an unhealthy amount of scalpels from its depths. The sort of display that would normally elicit some sort of sheepish look from the swordsman, but today, only coaxes a sort of tired emptiness. The only bit of care that he seems to have taken is a shift of clothes, to his normal set of black shirts and battle-damaged coat- but he otherwise looks worn down.

As for Tessa, some part of him had been waiting for her to arrive, and gloat- but there's nothing to be found there. Not a single clue of anything for his still-somewhat spiralling mind to latch onto. There's only her words, and a weirdly painful sympathy she's levelling at him, "Was a disaster. Yes. A good intention, that seemed to bore the audience, those who deigned to attend, even before Macon decided to set the whole thing on fire in a display of Ego et presumption." He wants to be angry, but after nearly losing himself to that voracious rage the day prior- all he can muster is weary exhaustion. "Nothing good. Nothing- I don't even know where to start." He shrugs, before moving to gesture at a seat that's not there, his attention vacantly drifting to a window that was still partially cracked open. Right. His attention instead redirects to the corner of the room, a small tendril of darkness snaking from his shadow and over towards the filing cabinet, after which it's hefted up like a feather, and brought to a rough stop in front of the desk. A stop that's accompanied by an unpleasant squeal of metal, as the cabinets crushed into a form better suited for sitting on, "You may as well ask and I answer."

Quintessa gives Kasyr the courtesy of ignoring his embarrassing moments, instead stooping down to separate papers, bottles, and scalpels into neat piles, keeping things organized as a way of managing her anxiety. “Bore?” Quintessa doesn’t know if she’d characterize it that way, “They weren’t bored, Your Grace, they were insulted.” With the documents in a neat stack, Quintessa sets them on the desk before steadying her gaze on the Kensai, watching his own attention flicker to the tendril of darkness snaking through the room that brings the filing cabinet to its heel. Quintessa hesitantly seats herself upon it, pondering what questions she could ask him. “Alright…” She inhales slowly, her blue and yellow eyes searching for his own. “What is the exact agreement you made with the King of Larket? How much of what King Macon said was true? Did you surrender political power for a trade agreement?” Quintessa doesn’t mean to keep railing off questions, but by the time she realizes she has three have already left her mouth.

Kasyr thinks back to the faces that had greeted him when he'd stepped up to initially speak at the summit, unsmiling, indifferent, and even seemingly resigned before the first word had left his lips, "It certainly ended that way, at least." There is something, an almost vestigial smile that's afforded in the wake of her help, though it fades slightly as her questions begin. Still, what crosses his features in its place is less shame, and more- something else. Frustration, perhaps some mixture of disbelief and anger. "I suppose we'll start at the beginning. Because the initial et exact agreement we made was long before I was king. I believe I already told you that I was able to get him to avoid pursuing his vendetta with Valrae, correct?" Even without the brief pause, he'd imagine some small flicker of realization would likely cross her mind, but he proceeds since she'd asked for exact terms, "It was through an...especially binding oath, sworn to Daedria et her chosen champion, et him swearing to Vakmatharas' within that city. He was to set aside his Vendetta with Valrae until Caluss was dealt with. In exchange, I agreed to perpetual non-hostility between myself, et house Azakhaer. Though, likewise, both himself, et the entirety of Larket, would bring no harm to us." Perhaps, she was gearing up to protest this as some great act of cowardice, or a self-serving endeavour, but the Kensai will brook no interruption here, as he offers the final personal piece of the puzzle, "House Azakhaer. I was going to turn Valrae. Affording her that same perpetual protection. I thought the idea rather clever. The possibility certainly never occurred to him. Since he agreed to that exact phrasing." That far from answers the whole of her questions, but he imagined this at least clicked one piece of the puzzle together.

Quintessa seems to frown when the mention of oaths sworn to deities is brought up but she seems to understand as expected, nodding along slowly. Even when she is met with information that might seem cowardly and self-serving she holds back, gently tugging at her bottom lip as she listens. It isn’t until Valrae being turned into a vampire is brought up that Quintessa finally breaks her stoic mask. “Valrae would never.” The changeling begins, her voice a gasp, “The blood of the witch- To give that up would be to sacrifice all her magic. Sacrifice everything she is. She wouldn’t do that.” Quintessa must realize the spark of panic that lit in her eyes because she quickly looks away, thinking of a new question to distract herself, anything. “And… what about me? Would this perpetual protection also extend to me if you decide to turn me?” She has no idea why she asks this, but she might as well, just to give herself a second longer to think of a real question.

Kasyr quirks an eyebrow up at the changeling, perhaps the most expressive reaction he's provided that evening, "But is that the truth, or just that quaint trepidation she always seems to have around moi et other vampires? After all, despite rumours to the contrary- druids still retain their connection, albeit slightly shifted." It would, at least, have been an interesting experiment. "Still. I think it was more the decision to protect her that rankled her the most. The idea that she needed it. That it was done covertly. For someone so frail, she es incredibly willful- which makes it all the more impressive." Whatever faint warmth came with that memory soon slipped away at Quintessa's question, a reminder of the situation at hand, and their own complications, "House Azakhaer. The phrasing was quite intentional. Though whether that would extend to a vassal I am far more uncertain of. It es also part of why I've been cautious in who I would employ in a closer manner- because, the limitations that bind me do not extend to Vailkrin. Were someone to, perhaps,- go rogue, without my knowledge. . . Our human representative- your mother. . ." He leaves the thought unfinished. " But that was not your only question, so let's proceed, non?" The lack of judgement made this easier, "As for 'sacrificing' political power- The specific arrangement was as such, better terms on goods between our cities, both ways- et access to Trist'oths goods, given even as they established themselves, it es doubtful they would be able to negotiate beneficial terms due to their state. Quite frankly, they hinge on whatever charity someone es willing to offer them, which allows a given 'neighbour' to set the terms- and affords leeway for us to redistribute them. Such as to Larket. What's more, the feral problem -could- have been slowly directed towards helping their mining, while ensuring the relinquishment of any sentient undead slaves they were hoping to retain." He casually pops a knuckle, "As far as sacrifices go, I would have -thought- that were a relatively painless one, in order to gain access to Larkets resources, including stone on an unprecedented scale, in terms of cost, quantity, et sheer haste." Which does beg the final question, "As for his speech, I was not privy to any of that prior, if my indignation at the time was any indication. I imagine this means he's taking the financial gains of this endeavour, and my neutrality very seriously - alongside my dedication towards the academy et my new students." There's a somewhat sombre look, "I honestly can't be sure if that was guile or impulsiveness, or some curious display of loyalty, vraiment. Regardless, I'd say the damage has been done. Though, even had it not- the rest of the continent seemed to hold little warmth for the idea of Undead as Individuals. Leoxander's speech towards how much of an unwelcome burden any former citizens be, certainly inspired the papers."

Quintessa shakes her head, “I… I don’t know, that’s why I was always afraid of letting a vampire bite me- Still, none have ever. My blood is magic, I do not wish to see it drained from me either, Valrae must feel the same.” Perhaps it was projection, but Quintessa wouldn’t admit this. “She’s not as fragile as she appears,” The changeling warns, knowing full well what happens when you go after a woman who has defeated death itself. “If she can survive against me she can survive against the worst Macon can send after her- I’ll make sure of it personally.” When the subject shifts to her mother and the separation afforded to her by not being a member of House Azakhaer, Quintessa shifts uncomfortably. “My mother is heavy with child,” She protests coldly, “Please do not involve her in any secret plots that might put her in danger… Anything that you need done that requires someone unattached… An outlaw even… I’ll do it. Just promise me you’ll protect me once the job is done.”

When the subject moves on to political power, she maintains her position of withholding judgment, hearing Kasyr out before she comments on it. “It did not seem like Trist’oth requested any aid. A lot of people think this new alliance is engaging in a soft annexation, and quite frankly I can’t blame them for thinking it and yet…” She sighs and shakes her head, “I like to think I know you a little better than that. If expansionist greed was your goal you wouldn’t make such timid gestures. And yes, your reaction during the summit. I know that look. You wanted to kill him but now I know that your oath prevents you from doing that.” Quintessa pauses here, thinking about Leoxander, finding the words to defend him. “Leo just did not like being pressured into supporting this alliance. It almost seems like Macon was trying to strong-arm Port Rynvale into helping… if you had only asked through more.. private channels then perhaps Leoxander would have been more willing to offer aid, but now the cause is muddied. Helping Trist’oth is akin to being a witch-burner now, though the two causes should have never been conflated as such.”

Kasyr hears Quintessa out as she in turn replies, but there's a singular point he feels the need to correct her on, "It's more that I doubt I could -stop- Khitt from acting if her impulses got the better of her. Better she be a free agent. Though, even beyond that- she does have the power to put out contracts through the warriors guild. Which es apt to thrive during times of strife." His tone is less sly, and more matter-of-fact on that point, a soft frown and inclination of his head in the general direction of the necropolis.

As for the matter of Trist'oth, "Perhaps they did not inquire, but they encamped within our forests, required guards to keep them safe, and used our resources. Et they have been deprived the means of running their economy as they once did, without assistance. At least until they can re-establish themselves. That does not lend them many options insofar as who they could ask for aid, et how. It's not like Cenril would be willing to offer them slaves, or labour that might be more or less analogous, non?" That might be the first hint of a wry smile, a small air of mischief, "I'll admit, throughout the entirety of that debacle, the singular moment of satisfaction I got from it, was deflating Laezila as she tried to negotiate. ..Though-" Though, the woman had not been a bad employer, and to a certain degree, even amicable, "I don't hold any real malice towards her. Just the only victory to be found, however minute." Leoxander, however, was perhaps the sorest spot of all. "It's funny, really. Of anyone, I would have expected him to stay. To ask more questions. But he was rather quick to flee a sinking ship." It stung, really, given all their history. "Et..perhaps. But, I don't feel there was much pause there. I'd made it rather clear from the outset, that my intention was to see if those former citizens might be recognized by the places that they once called home. Et not a single soul held an answer. Save Leo. Et his answer, however misplaced, peut-etre was firm enough. Et if you haven't read the paper? That singular moment es all they need."

The swordsman pauses there, cracking his knuckles for a moment, "As it stands. I doubt this is readily rectifiable. If others are already that quick to judge moi et my motivations, then any backpedaling es likely to result in them likely treating it as a ruse, et likely acting accordingly. Especially after Inks went out of her way to mail every other ruler present, -apologize- for it, and tout her own disagreement of it. Effectively cementing it as being factual." He does -not- look happy. "As much as it vexes moi- I don't see much recourse, but to stay the course, et make use of those resources to prepare for the worst. At the very least, with the undead quarters taking offense at any help offered . . . even as they demand more- the resources can be put to use on the city proper. Both Macon et inks have left me little recourse."

Quintessa finds herself sighing when she imagines Khitti, ready to pop, trying to assassinate Macon. “Gods be good…” But she leaves it at that. Nothing could be gained from speaking to Kasyr about it any longer. Instead she focuses on the matter of Trist’oth, her arms crossing one over the other in an almost defensive posture. “Well, I can’t exactly sit idly if Trist’oth seeks to acquire new slaves. I’ll have to stop them, you already know I’m in the business of freeing slaves, not turning a blind eye to their use. Speaking of, Lanlan has told me he cannot help me regarding providing aid in the Underdark, and quite honestly I agree with his reasoning. Instead, I shall work on efforts to return Trist’oth’s displaced slaves back to their ancestral homes- or wherever they choose to go. At least this way I don’t spoil my efforts of redemption by associating with slave masters.” Quintessa hopes this will illuminate to Kasyr why she was so against inviting the Drow into her forest before.

When the subject falls upon the newspaper Quintessa can only shake her head. “I’d have their heads on spikes,” she admits, unsure of a way out of this mess. “I think he’s open to a discussion. I think a lot of people are, just… allow me time to court them for you. Not officially, but as an outsider. It’ll sound more convincing coming from me.” She offers a weak smile, “I have my ways.” It was somehow true; No matter what Quintessa did, people always seemed to like her. When Kasyr tells Quintessa that Inks had sent out letters to all the world leaders apologizing for Kasyr’s actions, she visibly deflates. “It was bad enough when the Lady of Vailkrin walked out but… she didn’t…” She certainly did, and Quintessa didn’t even know the half of it. “Your Grace… This is terrible. I- I don’t know the way forward either but… If there is anything I can do.” Quintessa seems hopeful, a pleading glint in her eyes as she reaches out to grasp what she hopes is her path back into Vailkrin. “Anything you don’t want me to do… Just say it. It might look like everyone is abandoning you but I won’t. I’m here to rebuild Vailkrin together with you just like I promised as our city was burning. I’m still committed to that dream now and forever.”

Kasyr is generally silent during her report insofar as the Underdark, but when she finishes summarizing her displeasure, he finds it prudent to add, "Given the state of their population, I'm not sure how well they can...re-institute that. Regardless, the feral undead, if controlled by necromancers, would be a far more ethical alternative. Et I will admit, the fringe benefits are difficult to ignore." likely being able to have a considerable in the overall efficacy of another region's mining efforts as they recovered was a boon was an altogether unique opportunity.

But it was just that, an opportunity. Nothing is guaranteed, and perhaps perpetually at risk, given the upset of the papers. "As much as I -could- so readily rise to the occasion, insofar as their accusations of Tyrant, I won't stoop that low." Because once he starts, when would he stop? It would be so very easy. Such a simple, brutal solution- and a decisive galvanizing point. He can feel his jaw clench, as he forces the idea away. "I know you want to solve this. So goddamn badly. But the situation es delicate. There es a reason I tried to be so cautious. Because at any moment, the situation in the necropolis could burst. Et if that should happen, how long til a new crusade? Even if we defend ourselves, the body count will likely only enrage the rest of the continent, et see them joining the fray." Unless, perhaps, the worst was done. Unless body upon body was piled. He flinches, again, and tries to keep steady, "Do not share much of this, unless you can truly trust them to keep quiet.Valrae, I would trust to keep this quiet. Leo- peut-etre, if you can get him to swear not to tell anyone. Lanlan-" Why did the archmage's name even come to mind? It seemed like ripe ammo to twist the knife, and to further worsen the situation, "Non, Neither Lanlan, or Valrae. At the very least, if they 'know' I'm a potential enemy- they might be able to trust any intel you happen to pass onto them, which might help in the future. " It's the last request he thinks on the hardest, "Don't kill anyone. That's my request. Nothing in the necropolis can be solved that way, it would only set it alight." There's a pause, and he finally adds, "And as much as Inks hurt me, et caused damage- I want you to swear to me you'll leave her unharmed. That you won't try and Martyr her in an attempt to generate sympathy for the state, or moi. That situation es- It's resolved."

Quintessa nods once when Kasyr says he won’t stoop so low to execute those responsible, “Of course, Your Grace. It would be an easy but temporary solution. One that would tip the scales further against public perception. My only fear is that people start blaming you for what they say in the newspapers, particularly about Kelay. Magikrios takes his job as Guardian of the Sage very seriously and when he finds out who is responsible for those rumors about concentration camps he’s going to level the entire necropolis.” Quintessa can feel the tension in the air, and her underlying willingness to put the dissidents to the blade was no doubt becoming a nagging temptation for both of them. “I’ll keep this information privileged… I’m not sure how Valrae is going to feel when she hears but I don’t imagine it’ll be wise for me to look supportive of you- not yet anyway. Lanlan either, but you must understand that one is my Archmage and the other I owe a life debt, I cannot scheme against either, so I’ll keep it diplomatic.” When Kasyr tells Quintessa not to kill anyone she lowers her eyes but still nods her head, “I promise, I won’t kill anyone.” When he becomes more specific however, and mentions not killing Inks, her mismatched gaze flickers upward to meet the Kensai’s, a cold drop of fear creeping through her heart. There was no way Kasyr knew of her idle fantasy of eliminating Iintahquohae so Quintessa could surpass her in the line of succession. She hadn’t spoken that one out loud to anyone. “And I promise that no harm will come to Inks under my watch.” She meant it. Just like that her little daydream was forgotten.

Kasyr can't help but scratch at his chin, "Honetement, for an outsider to do it would probably be the best solution. The real problem would be all the unaffiliated victims simply caught in the crossfire. ..Much the same reason I don't act now." There's a helpless shrug that accompanies this, before he presses on, "I can't help but imagine he's already aware, though. Not only was the paper obvious- I recall his little clubhouse. I -was- invited, after all. A fact that I -hope- serves to dissuade him from trying to invade my privacy. Well, beyond whatever tidbits you'll deem necessary to tell him."Unless she'd been evicted during her time as Caluss' hand puppet. And given she was staying in Kelay. He'd bet good odds, otherwise. "I imagine, when it becomes necessary, you'll tell them. But for now- I will simply do my best to hold this all together. To make do with what's available. I'll attempt to expedite negotiations with Trist'oth, if your mother doesn't murder me in my sleep." Her witch ancestry had likely set her blood pressure to a roiling boil. "Maybe that trial should be expedited. Some bread et circus to rally around, given the grievousness of that incident." An opportunity to drag the changeling in, to some degree- but still provide her some margin of distance. "In any case- thank you. For now, however." For now, he wished privacy. With a snap of his fingers, the doors to the room snap open, "A bien tot, madamoiselle. I wish you safe travels, in all of this." Et to be left alone to the quiet roar that would begin to bubble up in the back of his mind once again. A hollowness that only seemed to grow.

Quintessa cannot help the slight smirk that tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, well, Magik is privy to more information than most… But ultimately I don’t give him the orders.” That’s all she was willing to say on the matter. “Yes, the trial, it might prove an adequate distraction- at least for the locals.” Quintessa was glad that her offer to serve as the King’s Justice was being taken seriously. When the doors open up, however, the changeling takes her cue to rise and slowly bow. “Bonne nuit, Your Grace. I do hope my mother doesn’t kill you before next we meet.” She sways slightly as she nears the door, throwing a cheeky smile back at him. “Perhaps you might consider sleeping with one eye open?” And with that uneasy suggestion still lingering in the air, Quintessa disappears into the darkness of the halls, leaving Kasyr to contemplate the fate of Vailkrin alone.