Part 2: The meeting of paths

"A pleasure, Thrandimir," King Darius says. "Now, my turn for introductions." He gestures to his left. "This is my brother, Lord Darian, who is currently acting as the governor of The Crossroads while I attend to the war. And of course, his wife, Lady Clara Regis and their two children, Clarabelle and Clarence." The eldest, Clarabelle, interjects in a voice that is clearly an attempt to match her uncle's tone. "I'm Clay," she says matter-of-factly. "This is Claire." The king laughs aloud. "Right, right," he says, grinning at his brother. "Clay and Claire." He turns his gesture to the older human woman. "This is the Queen Mother Marabelle, one of my trusted advisors." She nods graciously, if stiffly to the group. The king continues. "And of course, you know General Trask. Thank you for joining us, Amancae." Trask smiles. "Thank you for the invitation, your majesty." "And of course, our other guests," Darius says. "Garth Regis, former governor of Baervale and of course, father to my sister-in-law."  The elderly human bows, his smile a bit absent but certainly seeming sure of himself.  "And Lady Katrin, you may recognize Smith Gernath Blacksmoke of Clan Fireheart, visiting us from the Kingdom of Hol. I believe the two of you are related, in some way." Blacksmith nods to Katrin. "Aye, I believe you were knee high to a mountain goat last time ah saw yee. I be yer uncle's second cousin."

Katrin slowly nods, a stiff but pleasant smile crossing her face. "And how is my dear Uncle? Well, I hope." The knotted scar on her shoulder twinges, the memory of Ragnerk firing that bullet still fresh in her mind, despite the fact that it had been nearly 35 years since then.

King Darius sits and gestures for everyone else to take a seat. Gernath begins to take his seat at the king's invitation. "He's well, last I saw 'im," he says. "I know ye didn't part on the best o' terms. I know he regrets tha'."

Katrin raises an eye. Does he, now? She had a hard time believing that Ragnerk felt any remorse at all, but then again, it had been 35 years. Maybe he had changed since their last meeting. "I'm sure my father will be glad to hear that." But I doubt it. 

"We're honoured to make the acquaintance of the royal family, your majesty," Thrandimir pontificates, taking a seat at the grand table. "Tell me, is pleasure the only point of order tonight, or do you have business with the Fireblades as well?"

"You humble yourselves," King Darius begins, "To think that you are not worthy of royal recognition! You broke the famine, of course! We have had reports of your actions around Fireblade, and I have to say, I'm impressed. It's no wonder you attracted the interest of the Wayfarer's Guild so quickly."

"Again, you honour us, your majesty," Thrandimir replies with a modest nod. "However, with respect, the famine was neither broken by us alone, nor did that victory come without its own cost.... might I propose a toast?"  The wizard asks, lifting a wine glass from the table.

Katrin, who had been watching her cousin from across the table since they'd all sat, turns her head slightly to look at the wizard. At least he didn't say Prost this time..... She holds her own glass limply in her fingers, waiting.

"You may," the king says. Servants move in and begin to fill the stemmed glasses with a dark red wine. The king takes his and gestures with it toward Thrandimir.

"To Kou Shin," Thrandimir proclaims loudly, his resounding baritone carrying throughout the grand hall as he raises his glass high. "Our friend and brother-in-arms taken from us too soon. He gave his life so that we might live to save the Heartlands from starvation. May he forever rest in peace at Tempus's side!"

To Kou Shin! The toast is taken up around the table by all aside from the children, who look on in fascination at the ritual. A few sips -- or more -- of the wine are consumed. The king's brother, Darian, sets his glass down and asks, "He was one of the Keepers of the Citadels, was he not? I believe I am acquainted with Kell Shin, his former teacher."

Thrandimir nods to Darian in sombre confirmation as he sips from his glass. "He was, perhaps, the best of us. He deserved better than to be run through by a hobgoblin warlord. When the time comes, we will avenge him."

Akiran lifts his glass high and calls out  "To Kou Shin"  before taking more than a healthy gulp of the wine. Turning to King Darius "These are truly dangerous times your grace. I didn't know the man but I have heard his tale, he met his end fighting valiantly against a Warlord named Gesrik."    Looking from the King to General Trask   " A warlord who has terrorized and pillaged the people of the Heartlands. Have you heard of the man before?"

The king and his brother share significant glances. Darian speaks first. "Yes, we know of him," the lord protector says. "He's gotten far more daring since the war began." "He's always been a bastard," King Darius says. "Before the war, we sent a few contingents of soldiers after him, but he's a slippery one. Always finding a way to slip through the cracks."

"Katrin almost killed him," Thrandimir remarks with pride, "had him burning inside his own armour. Unfortunately, we'd never have survived to escape his men with the scroll, so we were forced to parlay our way out. For our own lives and the good of the nation, of course. If you ever have a lead on his location and activities, it would be our pleasure to be the ones to put him down. As I mentioned, we have a score to settle."

"There's a substantial bounty on his head," Darian says. "1,500 gold if he's brought in to stand trial, 1,000 for his head. Unfortunately, we don't have any information on his current whereabouts."

Katrin leans back slightly in her seat, the talk of vengeance on Gesrik piquing her interest slightly. "What did he do to deserve so generous a bounty? Aside from the obvious."

"He's been terrorizing the Heartlands Trivard for a few years now," Darian says. "His tactics of...recruiting smaller bandit groups...it's paid off quite well for him. It's been done before, but never to this extent. He must have some way of keeping them in line."

"It's blood magic of some kind," Thrandimir remarks, almost off-hand. "He's 'marked' his followers and can exert some measure of control or pain through said mark. Perhaps even communication. I'm not yet entirely certain of its limits. I expect that with access to a subject and the appropriate resources, the glyph's capabilities could eventually be assessed."

Akiran's arm begins to itch at the mention of the dark mark. Turning his attention to the Queen Mother, he nods his head deferentially.  "Thradimir speaks that truth. In my time in the Heartlands I've often heard tales of your magical prowess and arcane knowledge. Have you come across marks like this before? Knowing what they can do and how to remove them will be invaluable to bringing this monster in to face justice." And may help us cure ourselves.

"Hemomancy is not one of my specialties," the Queen Mother says. "Perhaps with further study, as you say."

Katrin swirls the wine in her glass, a frown creasing her brow as she listens to the conversation. "Perhaps there are books in your libraries that may help. We have a...vested interest, as Thrandimir has said."

"Well if we find him we'll be sure to ask as well," Thezra looks about the room at each of the guests before settling back on the king. "I somehow doubt you've called us here only to raise a pint in cheer, though. I'm sorry if this isn't correct human manner or whatever but is this about the Watchers?"  She leans in closely to await his answer, her fingers twitching a bit as the image of that smug bastard comes to her mind once more.

The queen mother's brow folds a few more wrinkles.  "Perhaps there are,"  she says.  "The royal libraries are not for public perusal." King Darius grins.  "Come now, mother. We can make an exception for these fine folk. Especially if it rids us of this...Gesrik problem." At Thezra's statement, the king's grin fades to a look of confusion.  "The...Watchers?" General Trask speaks up from the opposite end of the table.  "In my report, your Grace. On the incident at the Amber Meadhall." The king nods and looks to his brother.  "Ah, yes. I haven't had the chance to peruse that one as of yet, but Darian has." The lord protector looks uncertain.  "By the general's report, you seem to have routed this...cult. She noted that you thought this cult might be further reaching, but our investigators have discovered nothing else." Trask looks at Thezra. "The grocery stocker you...erm...interrogated proved to be a dead end. We saw nothing suspicious about his place of work or anybody else that visited there." The king smiles. "So, I suppose this is somewhat about the Watchers, in that it is a thank you for rooting them out of our city in addition  to solving a famine."

RisenZed said: The king meets Lilliana's gaze with even eyes as she curtsies. His dark eyes seem to take her in with a glance, and he affects a small bow in return. His lips shift into a small smile as he says,  "You move well for someone so recently injured. I trust you have been taken care of in that regard. The Wayfarers take good care of their own, as I hear it." Lilliana blushes and nods wordlessly to the King’s words, but she was unable to respond as the topics quickly shifted. She sits quietly while Thrandimir works as the spoke piece for the group. She listens and watches everyone, trying to keep close eye on the King and his mother; she was definitely one she would wish to speak with, but as it would turn out she would not need to work too hard for her desire. She shares a look with Akiran and offers a small nod. Still, someone as learned as Marabelle Abbott. She would surely know perhaps something about Lilliana’s powers… or at least give her a place to start looking.

Akiran flashes  a quick smile to Lilly, before bowing his head slightly towards the king  "You honor us your grace."  Taking a hearty swig of from his wine glass and turns to the king, and begins speaking in a story tellers tone  "Your majesty  you would have loved our hunt for the Watchers. Tracking the cowards  through Demon infested sewers, slaying fiend after fiend until we reached the room they were holding their foul ritual in."   taking another drink he leans closer to the king his tone hushed " Within we found the Watcher and his followers, and the wretched demonic form of Duar'Ken.  His body was monstrous twisted with shadow and hate, but what was most surprising is that I dealt the coward a killing blow less than a week before. "  Pausing to meet the eyes of Darian & the Queen Mother "But here he was in the Heartlands ready to serve the twisted desires of the Watcher." Leaning back he gestures to all of the Fireblades, his voice taking on an energetic quality  "We could not let that stand, and what followed was worthy of song your grace. Thrandamir worked his magics to create a near blinding globe of light that forced the monster back, Lilly used her arcane might to create a star that turned gravity itself against the beasts. While Thezra ended foe after foe, her great sword cutting them down like stalks of grain, & Katrin unleashed the gods fury summoning a divine hammer and unleashes holy fire against the demon." Pointing to himself his scales ruffling with enjoyment and his snout twisted in to a human smirk "And I got to put Duar'ken down a second time, this time I beat into nothingness with my gauntlets."  His voice taking on a serious quality as he leans back in his seat he meets Darius' eyes "We made quick work of the rest, but the Watcher didn't make a move. I tried to grab him, but he made a wall of magic so strong that nothing could pierce it. Even after all that we did he wasn't scared of us at all. & we couldn't touch em." Holding up his hands he says "All this to say I don't think we chased em out of the Heartlands, I don't even think we set em back. He seemed to be done with Duar'ken, and on to his next plan. I wouldn't underestimate them your grace." 

"Ascian put down many enemies with his bow as well, Your Grace," Katrin watches Akiran with a blank expression, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm sure Akiran just forgot in the thrall of his story."

Akiran smiles remains "Katrin's right, how could I forget! The Pale One's like a feral wolf."  Meeting Katrin's eyes as he adds the last remark   "Fangs bared at the world snapping at any who come near. "  Adding a friendly laugh he turns attention back to the King  "Though  only in battle your grace, only fools would fight alongside a beast who's likely to attack them."

You would snap too, if the world treated you as cruelly. But she keeps the thought to herself. This was not the place for hostilities to break out. Later. She would have words with him later. She merely gives Akiran a smile, but it doesn't touch her eyes, which are cold as what respect she has for Akiran continues to diminish at his constant attacks on Ash.

Ascian had stilled in his chair at the mention of the Watchers, listening and staring blankly at the goblet in front of him that he'd lifted alongside the rest of them at the toast but swallowed none of. The scarf around his neck is an anchor he feels tethering him to the table, at odds with the strange urge he felt to follow the unnatural call downstairs. Its tension releases him as Akiran speaks, the slight unsurprising but not forgotten until it doubles down on Ember, a transgression for which Ascian can not forgive. Katrin tries for him; kind Katrin, noble Katrin, good  Katrin. Good and far better than he deserves – and exactly why she can never know about the vials at his hip. He stands abruptly, enough to raise Ember's head from where it had rested atop his feet beneath the table. He doesn't know who to aim his question at and defaults to the king, his stare as dead as his tone. "Where is the washroom."

The king is about to respond to Akiran and Katrin when Ascian's question cuts in. Merrid clears his throat before the king can answer. "I will show you," the man says, beckoning to Ascian. The king waits a beat, his gaze moving from Akiran to Katrin, to Ascian, and back to Akiran. "I sense some...animosity amongst you, Fireblades." He raises his hands in a placating gesture before anyone can object. "Don't worry. No party of adventurers I have seen is completely united." His voice is a somewhat jovial tone that turns to ice as he continues, "But be warned. In-fighting at the wrong time can get you killed. Get all of you killed."

Matters less if you're already dead.  Ascian walks toward Merrid without acknowledgement of the comment, vaguely aware that Ember gets up to silently follow.

Katrin looks away from Akiran, her eyes losing their coldness, but still remaining expressionless. Her thoughts briefly float to Ash, and her worry is pressing on her mind. He was pulling away deeply into himself, which wasn't unusual, but it still was a cause for concern in her mind.

Akiran's scales ruffle in surprise as The Pale One asks for the restroom. He had never even seen the man eat, let alone take to the privy. Had he actually hurt The Pale One's feelings, did the man even have feelings?  Before he could consider this further the King brings Akiran back to the situation at hand. And reminds him why the Clan Elder frequently asked if he controlled his tongue or if it controlled him. A brief burst of shame runs through the Dragonborn, this was too good of an opportunity to waste.  Deferentially nodding his snout to the king he says "Thank you for your understanding & wisdom your grace. We've had a small disagreement that's begun to fester, but fortunately we all are professionals and know to put the work first. Apologies for bringing our dispute to your table." Draining the last of the wine in his cup he asks "I know you saw more than a few spats during your time with the Sojourners. I'm sure that you have a story or two, that'll put our battle with Duar'ken and the Watchers to shame!"

Thezra frowns hearing the King dismiss the threat of the Watchers, but she is not entirely surprised. His men had barely considered their story either. Watching the back-and-forth between Akiran and Kat, and then to see the boy peel off and leave, Thezra considers jumping in, but inhales deeply instead, letting a measured breath out as she turns back towards the king. This whole meeting still felt odd to her. The king was yet to make any allusion to an actual purpose beyond saluting them, but then this seemed a bit much for something that could be achieved with a medal from Trask and a royal message. Meanwhile he spent the whole time smiling, making nice, and praising them while downplaying some of her biggest concerns. She smiles as gracefully as she can towards him as Akiran continues his practiced boot polishing. “What you say is true, your kingliness, but I find a group overly comfortable with each other and confident in their power - or hold on it - is equally likely to get complacent. And complacency at the wrong time can also  get you killed.” 

The king's jovial mood returns as Akiran and Thezra speak. "It's a delicate balance that every group needs to find, isn't it?" he says. "Most never do. As for the Sojourners, I'll have to show you my study. I have many trophies there from my time with them." Merrid leads Ascian out a side door and down a smaller, much less grand set of stairs. "The gentleman will be using the privy on the first floor, as the second-floor facilities are out of order for the moment." After a few more feet down a hall with a white-stone floor, Merrid directs Ascian to a simple wooden door. "Here you are, sir."

Thrandimir's chair scrapes softly against the floor, sliding outwards as he pushes himself to his feet. "Your majesty, it would be my absolute pleasure to tour them with you. However, if you'll excuse me, for the time being, I'll also see myself to the privy. I'm sure that I can follow the sound of Merrid's voice..."

"Very well," the king says with a nod to Thrandimir.  The wizard gets up and exits, but as he enters the corridor and continues for a few feet, he does find himself being followed -- at a distance -- by another servant that had ducked out of the feast hall after him.

The abrupt exit of the pale one was hardly anything unusual in Thezra’s eyes. She knew he had even less interest in being here than even she did. But the wizard’s withdrawal raised some flags, especially as a servant ducked out behind him. Narrowing her eyes, she lets out a metered breath but nonetheless turns back to the king. ”I’d be keen to see that. I’ve heard it said you can measure a man by the quality of his enemies. That applies to the beasts he fells as well.”

As Thrand scoots off, Akiran's suspicions peak, with three thoughts firing through his brain in rapid succession. "Thrands pulling a scam and without me? They're fucking gonna get us killed. That's only if Katrin doesn't kill em first for getting reckless with our lives." Refilling his glass he turns to the king "It would be an honor your grace. I've been gearing up too hunt a great beast myself and I would grateful if you would lend me some of your experience as I make my preparations."

Lilliana smiles as The King offers to show them his study, taking up Akiran and even Thezra’s queues. “I, too, would love to see such things your majesty. I had even hoped to perhaps speak with you more about accessing the libraries within the Kingdom. Or even speaking with Lady Marabelle?” She glances gingerly at the older mage. “I don’t know anything really about my powers and I was hoping the perhaps find some information about its origins.”

Ascian follows Merrid silently, glancing back over his shoulder as they take their leave of the stairs – stairs that continued downward, to a basement or a cellar or, for all he knew, a portal to somewhere else.   He didn't know if what waited there was bad or good, only that it was calling to him, and he needed to get down there before time ran out. Alone. Skimming the man's features as they draw to a stop, he forcibly quells the first instinct that overtakes him. Katrin would undoubtedly be cross if he killed the king's chamberlain. It does, however, lead to a secondary thought, and the trail it takes him down is a familiar one; one that reared itself in an orc tent what seems like a decade ago and before that a ragged, hungry adulthood where the skills he had to trade for survival were as dark as they were few. "Thanks,"  he says flatly, slowly dropping to a knee beside Ember as his fingers find some of the gambeson's fastenings, flashing over them in a gesture that might be fixing or might be removing and ultimately doesn't matter as he keeps his attention intently on the wolf's silver fur.  "I don't need help." Help. Sliding into Merrid's mind is a strange feeling; Thrandimir's now had become familiar, but for one wild moment this new one reminds him too much of Kou – quick and electric, concentrated in its goal. But it's only after a beat that he realizes it isn't lightning washing over him as it had in the Keeper's last moments; it's the rapids of a river, tumbling over a myriad of rocks until it's split into a dozen different but identical streams. It's this, he thinks, that makes him start in Elvish, though he doesn't settle on it for long. They could kill you, you know. The boy. The wolf. Maybe together.   It's a whisper of the wind on the crest of that river, seeing the ripples it can make with every blow; first in Elvish and then in Common and then onward, until he's cycled through every tongue he's familiar with – the language of the dwarves, the languages of the elements, the language of something darker and harsher and cruel. Beasts are meant to hunt. What if the guards weren't thorough? What if a weapon was kept? The dragonborn called both of them dangerous. Feral wolves. Why would the king allow such a beast at his table unless it was here for a purpose? The cadence is rapidfire, a swirling cacophony of thoughts that strike one after the other – the pattern of speech it's easy to fall into when one doesn't need to breathe. All the while his eyes stay on Ember and his hand ultimately pulls at the largest strap spanning the wolf's back. It's the last tongue, the horrible one, that he finds himself repeating the mental whispers again in; slower this time to draw out each awful syllable, each brutal hiss. If he fed you to the wolf right now, no one would know.

Merrid pales as the blood drains from his face. His eyes go wide and his gaze darts around, looking for who might be speaking these thoughts so foreign to his mind. His eyes dart to Ascian, to Ember, to the content wolf's slightly-smiling muzzle, back to Ascian, and then begin again to gaze about the corridor. He coughs, trying in vain to cover his fear.  "Er...the gentleman will...uh...he will..." The fear evident in Merrid's voice, he trails off into a crazed murmuring and begins moving down the hallway, away from the direction that he and Ascian had just come. Eventually his shuffling gait turns into a fast walk, just shy of actually beginning to run. He turns his head back as he walks to make sure Ascian wasn't following, eyes still wide with fear. He keeps looking back until he turns the corner, moving out of sight. Ember's gaze comes up to look behind Ascian, and a soft footstep in that direction indicates the presence of Thrandimir. 

Ascian stands slowly as Merrid disappears from sight, the feel of that racing river fading the further he goes. His attention follows Ember's, the buzzing static replacing coursing water as he silently watches the wizard approach. The steward's dealt with. We don't have too long, but he won't come back.

Thrandimir quickly assesses the situation and nods to Ascian, weaving a sophisticated illusion of Merrid to disguise himself... only for the magic to dissipate like water running through his fingers. The weave forms and is stable, but the second that it's released, it crumbles and vanishes. Silently, the wizard curses to himself. Magic won't work here... so how are you doing this? The castle must be warded.

I've always been able to talk this way. He'd never really stopped to think about the ability's origins before – knew only that he had learned it long before he learned to speak aloud; assumed, perhaps, that it had manifested as a limb to accommodate for his silence. It strikes him suddenly to wonder if Casimir had too; what his brother's mind might feel like and what his own might in turn. What does that mean, then, if it's not magic.

I- ask me later, there's a servant right behind me , Thrandimir thinks back, making a beeline for the washroom.

Ascian shelves the question with a look, watching the wizard walk toward him and keeping an eye on what might be behind. We need to get rid of him. I need to go downstairs.

What? Thrandimir asks quizzically. Why? I thought that you went to plant the scarf? I came to help.

After, Ascian responds distractedly. Or you can take it if you want. There's something down there. I can feel it.