Persona Non Grata: Stopping a War (Awkin and Duke's Graduation)

A diplomat is a person who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you actually look forward to the trip.

A warrior is the person who sends you on said trip.

So what happens when warriors become diplomats?

***

Prince Hunter Merridale opened the door to his student’s room and promptly shut it again as a dart zipped through the air into the aromatic cedar planks. Cautiously, he reopened the door.

“Sorry about that, Your Hunterness. Didn’t hear you knock.” If I had, Kellson thought mutinously, I’d have made sure that dart went through your eye and not the door.

“Of course,” the prince said, shutting the door behind him and tossing Kellson the dart along with several others already embedded in the wood. “It is of no concern. Now…you remember I told you of a mission last eve?”

“Yeah.”

“A great war has broken out betwixt various nations near my homeland. Our land is a land of…strife. The possible casualty mounts are enormous.”

“That’s generally what happens in wars. And?” Kellson asked, lazily throwing a dart at the carved bullseye.

“Thankfully, no battles have begun as of yet. The three sides still gather soldiers. My kingdom does not wish to see more bloodshed in our world, but we cannot spare any men to be a peacekeeping force, occupied as we are with our own enemies.” That seemed a bit ironic to Kellson, but he kept quiet.

“So you want me to kill someone again?”

Hunter waved his hands. “No, no, no! The opposite, in fact. You, I, and thine friend, Jhans Frenn, are to go to the three sides of the conflict and mediate before the conflict turns bloody.”

“I’m no diplomat!”

“I’m aware,” Hunter said, slightly amused. “Jhans and I will handle most of the diplomatic business. I was hoping you could come along to participate, learn, and possibly protect us or the three kingdoms’ rulers from attack while the talks take place…unless, of course, you do not wish to come.”

Bugger that, Kellson thought. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as we can; there is not a second to spare. I must go and collect Jhans. Thou shalt meet us in the entrance hall. Bring whatever weapons you require.”

The prince excused himself politely—everything he ever bloody does is polite, the bastard—and exited. Kellson threw on his trenchcoat, buckled on a bandolier of knives, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. He began to leave, but hesitated. Diplomacy had a lot to do with psychology, didn’t it? How would the other man react to certain situations?

Grinning, he pulled a flamberge from the wall and belted it on. Psychological effects.

The regicide shoved open the door and strode towards the Dome's entrance hall. Almost automatically, he fell into a slow, self-propelling walk, legs acting as a sort of pendulum to send the next foot forward--his father had called it the Watchman's walk. The legs thought for themselves so the brain could think separately...

The other thing about diplomacy, Kellson had heard, was that betrayal was common. Spying on your enemies, in fact, was less important than spying on your friends. In the intense, pre-battleground feel of a brewing war, there could be...accidents. Fatal accidents. An assassin killed King Hunter, how sad, his students have no earthly idea who could have done such a thing...

“Damn,” he exclaimed. “I’m already getting good at this diplomacy stuff.”

OoC: Alright, here we go, time for you two to show off everything you've learned! No posting order, of course. I'll pop in with an entry every now and then.

IC:
Hunter strolled down the hallway at a leisurely pace, in a rather thoughtful frame of mind. Whatever sort of enigmatic--and surely frighteningly powerful, for the place they ran transcended all logic--leader or leaders that governed this Dome had summoned him to the gardens merely a week prior, and left a cryptic message awaiting him. Cadenza had once said that the Dome had no such leaders, and that it was perhaps even a sentient entity all its own, but Hunter had swept that idea aside as mere fancy and myth. But when staring down at the pattern of words and symbols cut so intricately and painstakingly in the Bermuda grass, designed so expertly as make it unfathomable for any one being to have done, Hunter had come to reconsider his earlier beliefs.

Immediately fetching someone to translate the cipher for him, he soon had learned that the graduation of Jhans Frenn and Kellson was being demanded by whosoever--or whatsoever--had written the message on the verdant lawn. The prince was unsure of what graduation exactly entailed, and so he had run to one of Cadenza's colleagues for help. They explained to him that he was to take the two students on a last journey to prove themselves, and whence they returned, they would be honored as alumni of the Dome, and would be permitted to retain their rooms and stay in the establishment whenever they were so inclined. Thanking the teacher several times over for the explanation, Hunter had racked his brain for a quest of sorts to take his students on, and after much thought had finally thought of something--the quest he had detailed to Kellson that very morning, and was about to explain to Jhans very soon.

As he continued on down the hall, he found himself wondering how much of this Cadenza had been told. Would she return expectant on seeing her old students still there? It was quite possible, he decided, and yet part of him doubted she would be overly hurt if they had left. If she did get attached to someone in the slightest, she never showed it. She would get along fine, he assured himself.

A turn of the corner and Hunter came upon Jhans' room, halting his pondering of his gypsy friend's current situation to come to the present matter at hand. With a polite knock, he announced his presence.

"Are you ready to hear of your new assignment, friend Jhans?"

Human philosophers have an 'issue' with their fellow sentient beings. Many of their religions had no mention of these beings flowing through into their world from within the dome -- and even on Jhans' world, the bears were only an etching on a cave wall. It seemed important to the humans, however, to prove that they came first.

Jhans sat on the straw, a great tome at his fore. the words within were not words at all, but runes. The paper not paper, but animal skin and the ink was but paint.
Jhans wasn't sure what had written it, but the book was over ten million years old.

"Are you ready to hear of your new assignment, friend Jhans?"

Jhans turned round and moved forward in a swift movement, until his armoured face was equal to Hunter's.

"Ah, Lord Hunter.You bring me news of a task?" Hunter stood very still. It's a thing he did, but it made you ever wary of a sudden movement or attack.

"Yes -- one of greatest import." Hunter paused while this sank in. "Three of the city-states of my nation are soon to be locked in combat. Soon the land shall be soaked in blood." Jhans blinked, incredulous. This was a stupid situation for a country to be in.

"Fair Choras has the Biscalian armies coming from the eastern seaboard, Fritgof's new bear army working their way South, the increasing threat as Hispania regains power in the West, and yet you still fight among yourselves in your spare time?" Hunter hung his head at these harsh words.

"Jhans -- I wish it were not so. I come to you not for your craft in claw or maul, but for your expertise in diplomacy. My country cannot afford to shed the blood of its brothers while we are surrounded by foes." Jhans sighed. This was so very human. "Kellson's coming," Hunter added... as if Jhans had a will that needed swaying.


~:†:~

A flautist plays on a stage in one of the Dome's many halls. People loiter and come and go, and this is where Hunter and the newly appointed peacekeeper wait for their companion. As they watch the young woman expertly paint the dawn chorus in colours of sound, a small man pokes his head round the curtain, and beckons her to the side of the stage. She cocks her head to him, listens without stopping and plays to the end of her piece before standing on a chair.

"Friends and fellows!" She projects in a commanding voice. "The Ravenfür ultimatum to Bartholemew has expired."
The audience gasped, and Hunter's face turned grim. The wheels of was were in motion.

With the comfortable weight of the flamberge at his hip, Kellson felt better about the whole idea of diplomacy. Violence would solve the most complex problems. Huzzah!

He entered the hall in time to hear the flutist's announcement. Bugger, he thought, are we too late before we've even started?

Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire. Standing to the side was an enormous polar bear. Hidden behind him was Hunter Merridale. The regicide sidled over to them and muttered, "Heyo. Let's bust this popsicle stand. Daylight's burning."

"Hello to you too, Kellson." Jhans turned to face him, bringing a grey bird of prey, perched on his shoulder, into view.

"Long time no see. I see you've been eneagled. Well done."

"He's a falcon, actually."

"Same thing. Good to see you," Kellson said, and surprised himself when he decided it wasn't a complete lie. Jhans was basically the only person he'd met in the Dome that wasn't a moron.

Hunter coughed. "Come. As you say, daylight burns."

The prince led them to an exit and opened the door. Cool air met them as they emerged in a city, shaded by the storm clouds overhead. The citizens whispered to each other, staying in groups of three or more. Fear hung in the air.

"Cheery place," Kellson said. "Where are we?"

"Bartholemew," replied Hunter. "The diplomats have gathered here. We must go to them immediately. As the prince of these lands, I will have great influence in the discussions. Jhans, aid me if you see an opening in the talk. Kellson..." the prince hesitated. Scarred and dangerous, with a two-handed flamberge on his hip that he could no doubt lift with only one hand, Kellson did not look like a diplomat. "Simply listen for now."

Kellson smiled coldly. That just made him want to be more openly sarcastic. "As you wish, Supreme Commander. So, these three cities...Bartholemew, Ravenfur, and...what's the other one?"

"Shrewsbury," Jhans answered automatically.

"Right, that. So, whose side are we on?"

Hunter turned to him, looking slightly angry. "Side? We're on all three sides, Kellson! These are all city-states in the same nation. We cannot afford to fight amongst each other--"

"And you can barely afford to fight anyone else," Kellson interrupted snidely. "Yeah, okay. I got it. Proceed."

As they walked through the streets, Kellson decided, regardless of the prince's ideas of unity, that he, Kellson, would be a side all by himself. And this side wanted a bit of bloodshed.

It is Noon in the city of Bartholemew. In the city centre, a scaffold is erected, and on it stand a group of ladies, singing and dressed in the national khaki combat dress. Taking each line in turn, they swing hockey sticks and bang them against the floor to get across the minstrel-less rythmn.

"Forever and before then, you have always staked your claim
At Football, Golf and Polo, you men have made your name
But now your country calls you to play your part in war
And no matter what befalls you, we shall love you all the more!
So come and join the forces, like your fathers did before!"

The crowd cheered and men raced forward to sign their names in a ledger. Choras was a country racked with war -- and aforementioned fathers were no longer around to warn them of the perils of the forces. And as the party moved on, Kellson asked Hunter:

"Do they know the war might not even happen?" Hunter grimaced at this.

"Just in case, Kaan says."

Jhans started; "We cannot help arrange a peace with this man while he musters forces! It is..."

"Quite fair, Jhans. Shrewsbury is doing the same."

"Ouch." Added Kellson.

~:†:~

The palace was full of people nervously chattering, and running about. Temporary desks, made of barrels and lath litter the halls. The passages are crowded, but the armoured and beweaponed 'diplomats' are given a wide berth. At length, they reach the hall of war -- which, to Jhans, is not a good place to hold a peace talk. Maps, frescoes and weapons of Bartholemew's use, from clubs to fine spears, litter the walls. Large, high windows reflect light off every shard of dust floating in the musky air. Seated in a huddle on a massive table hewn roughly of dark wood are four figures.

One of whom Jhans and Hunter had met before -- Lord Kaan, all trimmed beard and slightly corrupt false confidence. Next to him sat a small, balding scribe -- quill in hand, parchment titled. The third was a slim woman with black hair and bright blue eyes, dressed in archer's bracer, glove and breeches. Third was a hawk-like man in a ridiculous white robe and mushroom-like hat, from which hung smouldering pomander-burners. He carried a silver-topped cane, which he held in both hands below his chin as he stared gravely at a fruitbowl. Hunter bowed low, but his companions did not -- to his minor annoyance.

"Your graces, Prince Hunter Merridale. May I introduce Jhans Frenn of Svalbard, and Kellson of Armenia. Jhans, Kellson, these are Lord Kann -- ruler of this fair city -- Lady Hispani, the Crawford leason and Hector Mast...Earl of Ravensfur and their embassador." Nods of ascention were passed around to all but Kellson, who stared resolutely at the ceiling, hand on hilt of sword.

"You are here not a moment too soon, Prince." Kaan's voice was drenched in disdain. "We started hours ago."

"Yeah, and if you could just shut your trap maybe you can actually finish," Kellson muttered.

"What was that?" the lord demanded haughtily, while the Shrewsbury diplomat, Lady Hispani, covered her mouth to hide her small smile. Kellson wordlessly stared him straight in the eye until the noble was forced to look away. The regicide kept watching him closely. Hunter's not the only one who'll be dead when I leave, my friend. That goes for all of you. You're lucky I don't kill you right here and now. Actually, the woman actually looked slightly intelligent. Maybe there was hope.

Ha! Yeah. Right.

His attention drifted while Hunter continued pointless formalities. Eventually--thank God--Jhans interrupted, commenting pointedly, "Perhaps it would be best if we continue the negotiations."

"Quite right, old bean," Hector Mast agreed, his outrageously flamboyant accent matching his preposterous clothing. "Where were we?"

"The mutual terms," Kaan answered, pointedly not looking at Kellson.

"Ah."

"What are they?" Kellson asked, turning his unblinking stare towards the ceiling once more.

"Shrewsbury demands that Lord Kaan step down from his position as ruler of the city and be replaced by someone else acceptable to all three sides," Lady Hispania said firmly.

"Ravenfur also demands this," Mast added.

"Why?" Hunter asked.

"My Lord Merridale," Hispania said, inclining her head. "As a respected leader of Choras, surely you would take issue with a leader committing questionable acts...accepting bribes, granting preposterous favours--"

"That is preposterous," Kaan exclaimed, half-rising from his chair. "Prince, surely you would not ask me to--"

"Sit down," interrupted Kellson. Kaan opened his mouth. "And be quiet. Let the Lady finish."

Kaan looked like he was about to argue, but stopped and sat down sullenly when Kellson laid a hand on his monstrous flamberge. Hunter flashed Kellson a glance of...irritation? That no-good royal bastard. I'm saving his country's arse here.

"Thank you," Lady Hispania said, nodding to Kellson. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, reports have reached both the ears of myself and Lord Mast concerning the questionable actions of Lord Kaan. After investigating, we've concluded that these acts cannot be excused or overlooked. As such, we demand his resignation."

"Here, here," Lord Mast called. What a shameless yes-man, Kellson thought. "However, that is not all. Ravenfur is outraged, yes, outraged at the despicable tariffs placed upon us from both Shrewsbury and Bartholemew. We also demand that these tariffs be completely lifted."

"Forget it," Lady Hispania mumbled. Kellson had to turn away to hide his expression. Damn, the lady was priceless. She'd escape the royalty slaughter-day just because she wasn't a complete moron.

"And in turn," Kaan interjected, "Bartholemew demands that both Ravenfur and Shrewsbury withdraw these preposterous demands."

"This is stupid," Kellson grunted, silencing everyone. "No one can be happy because your demands mean that the other two cities have to do something for you that has about as much chance of happening as my bear friend here has of surviving the heat of Hell. You two take care of this. This is idiotic."

He turned and walked away. Hunter shouted Kellson's name, but the regicide didn't even glance backwards. Slamming the door behind him, he strode back outside to the recruiting station. More damn fool lads were signing up to fight their brethren.

The demi-angel sat down on low wall and watched the proceedings. You poor fools. Your leader is a complete blockhead. This entire land is full of blockheads. Someone ought to do something.

And that got Kellson thinking. The best way to fix this would be to let it run its course. At least one city would be obliterated. Who cares? Hell, another one could be sacked. You have one last strong city; it gets obliterated by outside forces. Choras collapses. Hunter is stricken with grief; his beloved land stricken with death. The prince would be in the perfect situation to die.

Actually, Kellson thought, that sounds like a plan. I am, after all, my Own Side. But what way would be best to start a bloody civil war? And Hunter can't die until the very end, just so he'll feel even more awful when I give it to him in the kidneys.

In a thoughtful mood, he stood and wandered away. Forget being a damn diplomat. It was now a Time to Scheme.

Oh, wait. Diplomats did scheme.

You do me shame with your quick replies.

(Ic)

The consul had retired. It would have taken a stark optimist to say otherwise. The diplomats were at loggerheads, each in an unwinnable situation. The sooner one of them decided to conform -- the better. But each is under orders, and it would take months for their opinions to sway. The diplomats was feasting in the hall, along with Hunter and everyone else of import. Jhans went hungry.

Jhans contemplated the situation from the palace's walkways. He technically had a room, but he also had absolutely no desire to sleep in it. He was enjoying Kellson's company -- and was glad he'd been bold enough to be so stark towards the mindless stupidity of the humans. Looking down into the courtyard, he slowly watched the scurrying figures thin out, and dusk fall. Kellson hasn't been seen for hours.

He considered travelling to Crawford himself to see what could be done... going straight to the top, and seeing what could easily be done. Even from here, he could see the last of the sun glint off the spearheads of Bartholemew's massed armies.

Dinner finished, and twenty odd people filtered out of the doors and into the courtyard. Watching from his perch, Jhans could see the diplomats were not among their number. The courtyard was square, and the path on which Jhans sat spiralled around the central willow, open but for a stone banister onto the yard. Jhans sat fast as the diners sauntered warily past, all conversation stopping as they padded past the bear.

Some minutes after, Jhans' hearing, honed by the quiet of the night, heard a shuffling in the dark... coming from opposite him and slightly up on the spiralling walkway. Probing with his hearing, he heard a clatter as Hunter led the diplomats out of the hall, lantern in hand. Trying to concentrate over the sound of Lord Mast's loud comments, he hears a click and sees a figure in black hauling the stock of a crossbow over the balustrade.

With a mighty roar, Jhans kicks up off his haunches and into a lopeing run up the hallway. His side crashes into the wall as he clumsily takes the first corner with speed. He can hear the proclamations of those below, as well as their running footsteps. As he approaches the figure, he turns, drops the crossbow over the balustrade and turns to run, but is caught a hard blow in the stomach by Jhans' shoulder. Jhans picks him up by the shirt with one paw, and slams him against the wall.

"Who are you, human? Who is your master? Who are you trying to kill?" The man croaked, and tried to bend forward for air. Jhans realised he'd probably broken the man's ribs in his rage. The bear puleld the assasian upright, and continued.

"Why are you here?"

"I work... with the magistrate...you shall not harm me..." His breathing was laboured, and all the while Hunter's footfalls grew closer.

"The magistrate means nothing." Jhans heaved the man upright again and bared his teeth. "You mean less." With one paw, Jhans rolled him out onto the floor. He came to a stop at Hunter's feet -- Mast and Kaan flanking him. The man on the floor lay still, only the groans gave any sign of life.

Picture the scene. Lady Hispani hurrying forward to help the injured man, Hunter looking astonished, Kaan looking angry yet scared. Before them: a bear, standing hunched with fists clenched. Three humans, one bear, one dying man. Kaan tried to get past Hunter.

"You stupid animal!" Kaan's eyes gleamed.

"Your majesty, he is an assassin..."Jhans dropped back down to all fours, the plot slowly dawning on him. The croosbow fell over the balustrade, but surely if he looked now it would be nowhere to be seen. Either a diplomat got shot, or the bear was put out of the picture. A plan easily met.

"He's the head of my court, you beast!"

Kaan was absolutely belligerent.

As he watched the scene unfold, Hunter was becoming increasingly unsure of his ability to rectify the situation. How could he both glean the truth from the incident and keep his ally from a court-martial? Looking down upon the man's wretched, beaten body at his feet, with his pallid face and flickering eyes, the circumstances didn't seem to favor Jhans in the least. Still, some semblance of order had to be maintained; in this frame of mind, Hunter stepped before Kaan once again and restrained him, a pleading expression upon his princely face.

"Please, my Lord, allow me to speak with him for a moment and see if there is justification for his actions. I brought him here, so it's my res-"

"Nonsense, Merridale!" the blustering noble interrupted, "The results you bring us from thy interrogation could very likely be biased in the beast's favor!"

Hunter tried to protest to the remark, but Kaan just continued to speak over him. "It is already too clear what has transpired here, and any knave who assaults a man of my court should feel swift justice!"

Mast and Lady Hispani nodded their heads in agreement, the latter still hunched over attending to the quivering man's body on the floor. Hunter could see from the looks in their eyes that his efforts were wholly in vain.

With a masterful gesture of the arm, Kaan caught the prince's attention once more, waving him off the scene. The Lord seemed slightly more at ease now that he had seen he had the support of the other diplomats on the issue. "You should retire now, Prince, and leave the situation to those whose judgment may prove to be more level-headed. Trust that justice shall have been dealt to this vicious beast by the morrow."

At Kaan's order, two soldiers took Hunter by the shoulder and led him off to his quarters, leaving Jhans at the mercy of the diplomats.

OoC: It's short, but there you go Duke, I posted like you asked. ;P

OoC: Huzzah.

IC:

Rage.

Kellson stormed through the streets, unmercifully shoving anyone in his path to the side. Boots splashing through the muddy puddles on the cobblestones, he refused to give way to man, horse, or cart, flipping over the latter and leaving its driver gaping after him. The regicide ignored the stares and stalked away, hood cast up over his face and fists balled.

The regicide business was so much simpler than this lark. No restrictions, no bloody stupid talking about the job; he just walked in, did his work, and walked out. Details in between were insubstantial.

Damn Kaan, Mast, and the lady. They were all so stupid. Compromise! Reach across the aisle and shake hands. Ha, he thought bitterly, not likely from Kaan. There was a warmongerer if he'd ever seen one. But...Kaan could be useful in Kellson's plan.

Clutching his long coat around him, the regicide abruptly sidestepped into an alley. Seconds later, a dark shape soared towards the palace.

***

Lord Mast stood to one side as Kaan called for guards. The bear was to be restrained and probably executed in the morning. It was Lord Kaan's jurisdiction, as it was his head of court lying dead on the floor. Frankly, Lord Mast did not like Kaan, but he did not like the bear even more. Mast was a bit of a species purist. Seeing a bear walk and talk upset his applecart.

As Kaan berated the unblinking polar bear, venting his spleen and verbally imagining punishments, something jerked Mast towards the ceiling. No one noticed below. The diplomat squeaked dumbly in fright, whipping his head around. Hat askew, Lord Mast fainted.

In the darkness, there was a gleam of a grin.

Below, Lady Hispani looked around, puzzled, and asked, "Where is Lord Mast?"

Kaan halted his enraged speech and turned. "He was right here."

A snap echoed through the darkened hall. Taking a lantern, Kaan slowly walked forward, flanked by two guards. As the circle of light moved closer to the sound's place of origin, he stopped, gasping.

Lord Mast swung on a rope tied around his neck, head cocked at an unnatural angle. He was dead.

A note was pinned to his chest with a knife. Carefully avoiding the blood, Kaan withdrew the note.

You shouldn't worry about the bear.

Other creatures lurk in the darkness.

Kellson grinned and silently stole out of the palace.

"Bear!"

Jhans sat calmly in the middle of the floor. Kaan had raised the alarm, and an explosion of guards were combing the palace. Mast's corpse turned gently from its noose, a slow creaking sound emphasizing the macabre scene. Lady Hispani stands with her knives drawn, flanked by her private guard. In the centre of it all, stumbling around, Kaan stands incandescent -- red-faced, belting orders and curses at any guard standing dormant. After a moment of stillness, he turns on Jhans, standing before him and talking with a coarse hiss.

"You know who did this, heathen beast." His spine racked with pent-up anger, his breathing came in short bursts. Jhans meets his flickering gaze with his own stolid glare, and answering quieter still.

"I hold diplomatic immunity. The sixteen legions of the bear nation stand behind me." It was a lie, but an effective one. The bear army had been pushing south for months, and the nation of Choras stood frozen in fear of this foe. Kaan spat, and turned away -- obviously incandescent with rage. All too obvious. No man could rule a country with a temper like that, it seemed too authentic... to the extent of not being so. Jhans stood.

He knew it was Kellson who killed Mast -- his odour hung rank in the air. Slowly, he slipped away into the courtyard. People disregarding his presence as they shouted and scurried. Slowly, he moved among them -- making people jump as a soft but firm object hit them low, relentlessly moving onwards through the throng.

Rearing onto his hind legs, Jhans sighted the spot where the sniper had stood. Kneeling down below it, he examined the impact site. There was no trace of the crossbow. Looking close, in this patch here the dust was piled in little furrows, like it had been swept recently. The crossbow and stock had abviously, recently been sweeped away -- as he had expected. The scent was of Kaan's kitchens, a hired slave to tidy away his mess. Silently, Jhans cursed Kellson's actions. He had achieved Kaan's aims himself, and the corrupted lord secretly smiled at his ability to blame whomsoever he liked. Lady Hispani would no doubt withdraw from the country -- all talks would cease and everyone would lose but Kaan. Not a preferable outcome. Kellson had pushed them one stride towards open war.

"Yeeeeeeeeeee ha ha!"

The regicide jumped into the air and somersaulted, landing on his feet without breaking stride as passerby stared. Kellson didn't care; he was flying high on euphoria. Several bottles of rum clinked together in his satchel--a toast to success, past and future.

But now, the second diplomat, the woman...she would run, flee back to her city. Unacceptable! The plan would fail if the cities and nations were not watching. The only thing to do was...kill everyone with Lady Hispani? Made sense, in a bloody sort of way. If her entourage was dead then she'd have no one to take her home. She couldn't trust a guard Kaan gave her, and the land was surely dangerous...yes. Her diplomatic party had to go.

Tipping back a bottle of rum and finishing it in three huge gulps, Kellson hurled the bottle at the wall, laughing to himself as it smashed into hundreds of glass shards. The fun had only started.

What would make it even more fun...oh, right. Make it look like it was Hunter's fault. Technically, it was his fault for bringing a regicide along with him, but technically would not cut the mustard.

But...no. Hunter couldn't be bogged down by accusations this early into the game. He needed to be alive and well when the midden hit the windmill...and so Kellson could kill him.

First things first. After Hispani's crew was slaughtered like a herd of cattle, Kellson would need to be able to get as close as he could to her, and then he could bugger things up even more then they already would be. He could...offer to be her bodyguard. Of course. She'd need one. No one even suspected Kellson, so it would be easy.

Whistling a happy tune, the regicide strolled off. He had quite a few murders to start.

OoC: Yes, Kellson goes from one homicide to a mass murder. Brace yourselves, fools!