His Dark Crown

Log Info

• Title: His Dark Crown

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Harkashan, Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's house

Lúpecyll-Atlon house, noon.

It's raining. The gray has returned to the sky, and the drops that fall down come in light showers. It's the sort of rainfall that might be welcome on a leisurely walk, because it's not accompanied by heavy wind nor loud thunder, and the rain is light enough to be braved without a parasol. It's the sort of rainfall that the plants of the Lúpecyll-Atlon garden adore.

But it's the sort of rainfall that has Cor'lana squinting her violet eyes out the window in the kitchen, finishing up with the washing of dishes. Pothy is behind her on the counter, eating from his customary kitchen bowl of snacks (separate from his customary living room bowl of snacks), but even the familiar sound of his crunching is not a soothing balm for her.

"Relax," Pothy tells Cor'lana. "If something's coming, then you'll deal with it then. It's not good to worry about it now."

Cor'lana's eyes don't move from the window. "It's been too long since the last time," she mutters. "Something is surely coming. But I'm not a weak little girl, and they won't live past what I have to give if I have anything to say about it."

GAME: Harkashan rolls Perception: (4)+5: 9

Stepping up the path heading up to the beautiful Lúpecyll-Atlon house, Harkashan wears his usual armor. He wonders if the Fea present on the premises are starting to get used to him coming and going yet. The soft rain splash off of his scales, creating a strange 'halo' over his body. The heat that radiates from him more notably because of the strange effect it creates on the water hitting his body.

He fails to spot Cor'lana staring at him from the window, due to the reflections, and instead seems to be moving to the front room instead.

Notably, he does stumble at a moment halfway down the path. Pausing for a moment, touching a spot over his armor for a moment. Brow creased, thinking he goes unobserved. A deep breath, head high, and then proceeds to keep on walking with his head held high.

Until finally that knock comes.

Telamon isn't holed up in his study -- he refuses to hide when his wife is in a mood. Instead, he's in the living room, his hands cradling an intricate tracery of light, a spherical construct comprised of three smaller spheres, all blue light and elegant runic patterns. He opens his hands further, causing the effect to enlarge, as he studies it. "Are you all right, dear?" he asks, picking up on her tension.

He claps his hands together, dismissing the image, as he stands up from the sofa. "It's just the weather. We've been waiting on rain for a while, and so it's finally here--" And then someone knocks at the door, and Tel makes a face. "... and evidently some people can't wait for proper weather." Swiftly, he walks to the front door, opening it slightly to look out before swinging the door open. "Harkashan! What're you doing out in the wet? Come in, come in... I'll get some towels."

"I'm fine," Cor'lana says, in that insistent way that seems to imply she isn't fine--or will be fine, when this enemy that she seems to be preparing for comes to her door and is dead at her feet. Thankfully, Harkashan's knock at the door, followed by Telamon's greeting, gets Cor'lana's attention, and pulls her out of this cycle of preparation in her head. "Harkashan?" she calls out, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. "Is everything all right? The Corpse-Eater hasn't attacked, has he?" The lack of Rune with Harkashan seems to already put her on edge in that regard.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Sense Motive: (6)+12: 18

Leave it to a Sith-makar to be absolutely fine with being wet. Welcomed at the door by Telamon, the creature bows his head slightly in respect, and steps in - ducking to not get his horns stuck on the entrance - dripping on the stoneworks beneath him. "That will not be necessary." He remarks at first, pausing, before adding; "That is, for my sake. I do not wish to drag the wet through your home though." That moment of pause so easily displaying the difference in culture - before he can think of the 'softskin' way.

"I hope I am not disturbing you during a time of peace." Upon your nest.

His head tilts, and he smiles to Cor'lana. Noting her concern. Lifting his hand, he shows the closest someone draconic has to a 'smile'. "The Corpse-Eater has been delightfully absent." Noticing her concern, he seems to connect dots; "Rune is with Jacob at the moment."

He looks up, making sure he can stand to his full height - an matter of instinct in softskin houses these days - and erects his posture.

"I wished to speak on a recent matter." He notes to the two of them. "About the man who tried to pry into Telamon's mind. I've found out their identity - they recently made quite the scene at Soldier's Defense."

Telamon has already collected towels and proffered them to Harkashan. "No, it's just... general anxiety, I think. Waiting for the other boot to drop, as I commented the other night." Once Hark has managed to dry off, he leads the bulky makari into the living room, gesturing for his unseen servant to grab the heavy stool he uses for sith guests and bring it over. "Please, sit down."

At Hark's words though, Telamon's eyebrows shoot up. Then he looks slightly pained, and remarks, "At the risk of sounding pedantic, we don't actually know he was responsible. It could've been a confederate or ally, or it could've been someone entirely unconnected to them. I know it's suspicious -- gods know I think it is -- but there's a difference between suspicion and fact. What did you learn, though?"

The Sith-makar accepts the towels and kind of... puts some of them in his horns to carry them, and then wipes off his legs and chest and back first. One towel ends up just hanging on his tail, another on his shoulders, and a third keeps being used to dry clean spots.

Offered a heavy stool, he sits down on it, one leg up.

"Correct, it could have been Micha - his younger associate. It could have been someone in the crowd. But... I have good reason to think it was this man for good reason." Harkashan answers. "If nothing, than because I know him to at least be able to turn invisible, so a viable source of magics." He points out.

He looks Telamon in the eyes as he delivers this with a sense of heavy confidence.

"That elder man was Marsward Seraquoix. We caught him trying to steal a man from the Soldier's Defense - someone who'd had most of his guts damaged or removed. Claiming that man - N'thain - to have been harmed by the Charn and to be a monster." Giving a summary of the events.

A pause, before he looks to the two of them and growls; "He hurt Magpie."

Cor'lana's whole being stops in place the moment that Harkashan says the full name. Her violet eyes are wide. Her face is pale.

But she doesn't tremble. Not in fear, not in anger. Not a tremble at all. Instead, she claps her hands together, a sound that grabs even Pothy's attention all the way in the kitchen.

"So. He's here. He's in the city. My city."

Cor'lana smiles. Just a little smile. It's not the smile of a deranged killer nor the smile, even, of someone who's about to relish what's going to happen. It's the smile of someone who has made her mind up.

Someone who has prepared.

"And he tried to mess with my _husband_."

Now there's a dangerous glint in her eyes. Not for Harkashan nor for Telamon, but it's still a little unsettling nonetheless. "_And_ he hurt Magpie. _And_ he's treating people as disposable toys. You know, that's exactly how I thought he would be. It's a good thing that he's done the stupidest thing that he could have done, short of showing up right here on my doorstep, and come to this city himself."

She grins but it's not a grin. "Because I _will_ kill him."

Telamon looks surprised as well. Blinking. Then he turns his gaze to Lana.

"Well, love, looks like you get to rub my nose in my overestimation of the man's wits and brains. I'd have put money on him not jandering on into a city filled with adventurers all eager to take his head." Telamon's tone is remarkably calm.

His eyes shift back to Harkashan. "I see," he purrs in an ominous way. Sounds a lot like Cor'lana, in fact. "Well, if this is how he wants to play this, then very well. I thought we'd have to dig him out of a deep hole. This is so much more convenient."

"You're a frightening woman, miss Ravenstongue." Harkashan finally decides on, after a long time of thinking and watching the woman respond to the news. His head tilting and swaying a bit with that observational comment, before looking her in the eyes. Seeing that dangerous look in her eyes.

That not-a-grin-grin, that way she says she will kill him, has him make a bit of a concerned growling sound. Perhaps to be expected, of a Deathsinger. Death may be common, all too common around him. But the way she speaks, this things that has a shadow of glee in it, is a bit hard for him to take in.

It's not like he's not killed before. But never with a spark of 'joy'.

His gaze turns back to Telamon. "I just wished to make sure you had your guard up. Now, to speak further on this matter..." He then remarks.

"It seems his younger apprentice approached miss Carrough on a matter of... beer. And presentation." A laughable statement. "Blue Moon Ale, a local beer, to be precise." Seems irrelevant.

Then, deepening his voice and tilting his head down.

"With a workforce of over five-thousand."

GAME: Harkashan rolls Perform/Oratory+1: (10)+4+1: 15

The remark from Harkashan actually has Cor'lana sighing softly, shaking her head. "My apologies, Harkashan," she says. "Marsward is a personal enemy of mine. There is someone whose spirit will not, I think, firmly go to rest until Marsward is taken out--and there is grieving of mine that will not stop until Marsward is dead. You can understand, I hope, as one of Vardama's own." Indeed, Cor'lana has been a regular visitor to the Temple of the Gray Harpist as of late.

"A workforce of five-thousand," Cor'lana grumbles. "They _can't_ all be werewolves. It would be stupid to infect them all with lycanthropy. They need people unafflicted in order to keep the appearance that everything is on the 'up and up', as it were. Plenty of these people are probably innocents who have very little idea of what they've gotten themselves involved in..."

She stops and looks at Harkashan again. "This N'thain, who Marsward said was a monster. Could you elaborate? Was he... shifting into a werewolf? Did he appear to know if he was afflicted with lycanthropy? Because I have it on good authority that Marsward often does not let people know the full details of what's happening to them until it's far too late."

Harkashan lets out another one of those rumbling sounds; "I understand the necessity of removing someone from the world, when they do not value life, miss Ravenstongue." Harkashan answers her in earnest. "But I do not believe the Death Singing Dragon tells me or my people to do so with glee and enjoyment." A slow shifting his head, almost like a singing sway.

"But that said, neither am I particularly going to judge you for it. I have tasted the desire of vengeance upon my tongue plenty of times. I have lived in Am'shere for over a hundred-and-thirty years." He expresses to her, pausing for a moment as his eyes glare for a moment. "And you are aware of what they did to Rune."

He sits a bit further upright, one of the towels falling off of his horns and onto the floor. Just...

FLOMP.

"I fear I do not have the kind of sway in this city to investigate Blue Moon Ale and its workforce. So I would prefer to leave that in your hands, as it were." He remarks; "As for the matter of N'thain... I do not know. I imagine that those at Soldier Defense would search and cute lycathropy. What I do know is that I healed the strange looking softskin and restored his abdomen, and did not spot anything particularly out of place at the time." In other words, he may not know what to look for.

"But he was not shifting. He was just... in pain. But to hear that Charn may be involved somehow does make me suspicious. Miss Andelena most likely will see to the investigations around that one." He proposes.

Pothy finally emerges from the kitchen, flying over to the fallen towel and picking it up in his beak. He's a good bird, and he delivers it into another room, presumably to be washed and dried later, before he comes back and lands on the living room table. "Lana is feytouched," he tells Harkashan. "Which means she acts like the fae do at times. It's not always something she can control."

Cor'lana looks bashful as Pothy chimes in. But she does nod at the explanation. "Telamon has a working relationship with Andelena, so he can follow up with her quite easily." she says. "I've yet to meet her. Just never a right time, it seems."

She sighs a little, clearly choosing not to follow up on Pothy's words. Instead, she says, "Thank you, truly, for bringing us this information. We'll investigate. I want this to be over. I want to put... I want to put this behind me."

Harkashan watches Pothy make off with one of the 'extra' towels, and then return once again. Strong bird.

"Hrrrm..." He rumbles at the explaination. That is all they get at the time for that one. There's no doubt that, lacking a proper experience with the Fey as of yet, that Harkashan truly understands what that means. But, somewhere at the back of his mind, there is a measure of knowledge about this. At the edge, scratching, out of reach.

"I am not sure this will be all, even were you to kill him. I sense a greater reach here. The man I met is secretive. He instills fear, fetter, and submission. But... also a man who flees when the going gets tough."

He furrows his brow. "I have met such people many times in my life during the war. Such people always have someone else standing behind them. I speak only of instinct, of course. But... it's worth considering that he has information valueable enough to steal from him - before he perishes."

Harkashan leans down a bit for a moment, pondering the situation at large... before he inquires about something else;

"The Tower in the Felwoods. It's older than the forest itself. There is a presence there. Something intelligent. Something that enjoys playing with people. What can you tell me of that place? We've been trying to get into the Spire itself."

"I wasn't aware that there was a tower there," Cor'lana replies, raising a brow. "But... I suppose that shouldn't be too strange. That place is full of dark magic and evil. It is full of demons and the darkest of my Grandfather's people. If it's intelligent..."

Her eyes are dark. "Whatever's in there, that presence? It's likely been there for a very, very long time. Be careful with an entity like that. That means they've had a long, long time to think about how to manipulate people. And both my Grandfather's people and demons are known to do such things."

"You know, we've commented before on how it seems like fiends just seem to pop in. I wonder if they've set up shop in that Spire? Just a hop-skip-and-jump to come to Alexandria and annoy us." Telamon 's voice is thoughtful. "But, as Lana says, whatever is there is probably going to be very dangerous."

The half-elf rubs his chin. "I wonder if this Micha is aware of his cohort losing his cover. He was supposed to meet with me to discuss a vision he had -- now I am truly curious. It's not much of a trap if your prey knows what's coming and can take precautions, after all."

"Hrrrm... a Spire." He answers Cor'lana. "A spire that feels like it's spread the forest around to conceal itself. Yet now, it has begun inviting itself. What's more, it seems like the elves of the Mythwood know more about this entity..."

He leans back a bit, nodding.

"I will stay on guard. I'm starting to wonder what the end-game is. Something that has been around that long must have a great deal of power. Reading our present. Putting traps in front of us, practically materializing things. Mimics made of cups and table indicating a welcome, Undead... I see no rhyme nor reason to it. Which is why I sought to speak to you on it. It feels like what you've spoken of before. Something that enjoys playing with people. Something perhaps Fey-like in nature."

He then looks to Telamon and nods his head. "Like that."

Before looking back to Telamon; "I am fairly sure they talk. Mars knows that I am aware of Micha. So no doubt he will warn his cohort post-haste. The recognition may accelerate plans they had. And I am certain I do not need to warn you of what a beast will do once cornered."

"And fortunately for us, I am prepared to kill that beast," Cor'lana says. "But--as you said before, Harkashan. It might be best to do some information gathering first. Although I know that Marsward was the leader of the operation when he used and turned Zalgiman." There's the darkness in her eyes again.

"Micha," she says after a moment. "It sounds to me like this man is the replacement for Zalgiman. Or someone that Marsward is trying to push into his position. I wonder how willing Micha is to perform such a role."

She looks to Telamon. "I want to meet this Micha," she says. "I want to discuss... And I want to learn. One way or another." There's implications there in her words.

Telamon taps his fingertips together. "Hmm. The dynamic between Seraquoix and Micha was... not exactly warm. We might actually luck out, if we can convince the lad that he's making a mistake." He pauses. "You know, I just thought of this. Zalgiman's 'cover' was that of a brewer as well. And I know there was something off about his ale, but I was never able to put my hands on a sample for testing."

He looks at the others. "It seems kind of... unimaginative, but I wonder if they're using the same scheme again? It... kind of offends me that they think we're that dim. But then, pride is one of their defining traits."

"Indeed." Harkashan remarks, slowly nodding that big Sith-makari head of his, as he wipes away some of the water, then begins to almost ritualistically fold the towels. One after another. Though, rather than neat squares, he folds them like he does his burial shrouds - in finely shaped cylinders. Carefully laying each and everyone one onto the table.

"I believe Micha and miss Asphodel will be speaking again in the near future. I recommend seeking access through her if you wish to speak to him. Alternatively, investigate Blue Moon Ale." He pauses, "Though it is rather... ironic, for a group of Werewolves to call something Blue Moon."

At Telamon's suggestion something may be off about the drink though, Harkashan grumbles just a bit. "Perhaps get an Alchemist involved? The drink is easy to get. But what if they were slowly trying to spread a disease through it?" Like Lycantropy.

"Zalgiman used the brewery as a method of recruitment," Cor'lana says, looking between Telamon and Harkashan. "He told me how he'd hire men who had a hard time finding work elsewhere, or were falling into lives of crime and turmoil. On paper, the brewery looks like a miracle institution of second chances. Like how Marsward told him he'd cared about his life and would make him feel powerful."

Her hands do finally clench here. "And when you come from darkness, you'd listen to anything like that out of _desperation_. I was lucky that it was Telamon and that it was people who served the Light and the Twilight who befriended me and reached out to me. Why would Marsward pivot away from a brewery if it was still working for what he wanted--which is money, and desperate recruits who'd do anything to turn their lives around? Maybe Micha's seen through the lies. Maybe Marsward's gotten less good at the lying game. Either way, we're ending it. We're ending the cycle of exploitation."

Telamon's expression tightens, but then his eyes glitter. "... Maybe we can do one better. First, we need to unmask Seraquoix, make sure he's not in any position to lay claim to the brewery. Dead or on the run -- preferably dead, but at the very least, take his scheme away."

Telamon stands up, pacing a little as he thinks. "The theory is actually sound. Men who are down on their luck, but might yet be salvageable. We don't need to level the brewing operation -- just turn it to a better use than creating converts for the Hound." He takes a breath. "We need to speak with Lady Carrough -- Asphodel. If she's going to meet with this Micha, perhaps we should meet with him as well, Lana. And see if he'd like a second chance."

"Hrrrm, I'm surprised." Harkashan remarks. "I have seen Softskins whose minds have weakened enough to dip to crime and turmoil. There must have been more to the sell than an honest day's work and a penance of money." He rumbles, having a bit of a different view on Softskin society and the power that money has.

"Still.... Desperation..." He rumbles, and lets out a sigh. It's a dreary topic, truth be told.

He then begins to rise up. "Keep me in the loop? I will gladly assist where possible. I will keep my..." Pause. Thinking. "Ear to the ground?" He is never sure when it comes to sayings and phrases.

It is hard to imagine a Sith-makar with human ears.

"Thank you for hearing me out." He then adds.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perform/Oratory: (9)+23: 32

Cor'lana nods, her eyes still dark. "It was the same desperation that Zalgiman lived his life with," she says. "All he ever wanted was... hope. A hope that he pinned in a specific way onto me--a hope that I couldn't give."

She casts her violet eyes out to the clouds of rain in the windows. She opens her mouth, and--as it sometimes does, poetry just falls out. This, however, borrows from a verse of an earlier poem--one that Harkashan did not get to hear, but Telamon did over the corpse of Zalgiman.

"I hoped for hope and you declined,

I hoped for hope and you declined.

You hoped for hope and I declined,

You hoped for hope and I declined.

Seduced by the dark and torn by despair,

Your captor returns to bring an heir

To the throne you built, propped by lies

And fixed with shackles and darkened eyes.

But I am here! and my love is here,

And within our arms we bring the keys

That cast off shackles and tear them down--

For we have only eyes for liberation,

For we have only thoughts for dreaming,

For we have only hands for burying

The dark far down into the grave,

And no more will anyone wear your dark crown."

She sighs--and then she smiles at Telamon, going over to take his hands. "We'll do this together," she says, before she looks at Harkashan. "Thank you kindly. You are always welcome here. If you see Rune again next before I do--tell her I said hello, yes?"

Telamon takes Lana's hands in his, and raises them to his lips before nodding. "Together. We set this right, and try to keep this bastard from laying claim to any more lost souls." His starry eyes sparkle with calm confidence.

Turning to Harkashan, he nods in agreement with his wife. "Absolutely. Give Rune our best. Both she, and you, are welcome under this roof -- it is a haven for all good souls trying to do the right thing in the world." He exhales. "And sometimes, you need havens. Nests, to recover your spirit and your drive."

Harkashan pauses for a moment, hand on his table, as Cor'lana begins her poetry. It's certainly a different kind of artistry than the ones he oft hears amongst his people, but it is still one he understands.

When she finishes, he lowers his head for a moment, then raises it again. "These hands of mine have seen many burials, miss Ravenstongue." He whispers to her, not giving much else away of other elements that may touch on his life so far. Quieting a bit on the matter.

"But let's hope you can destroy the dark crown before it is set upon Micha's head."

He begins to step off, opening the door, and bowing his head a bit, before he speaks on the matters of nest; "Peace on your Nest, and Ancestors blessing on the eggs, your mate, and offspring." Before departing.

He would tell Rune they said hi.