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!

A lone runner staggers through the gates of Ravenfür. He runs to the palace, and collapses before the Patrician. Slowly and laboriously, he tells relays his message.

The next morning, the city swarms with recruiting press gangs.

~:†:~

Jhans slings his maul over his shoulder, preparing to leave. The bears cannot be allowed to overwhelm Choras, he thought. To do so would have terrible consequences, they would possess a major strategic stronghold. Kaan is the common enemy here. With Mast gone, Hispani should be easily turned. Can I cause Crawford to assassinate Kaan, and see where the game leads on from there? It seems like a game, all this assassination and plot.

Wandering through the palace halls, Jhans seeks lady Hispani. He hasn't seen Hunter since the night before, but current matters take presidence. The Crawford embassy may leave at any time. Walking round a corner, he walks into a member of Hispani's guard, who yells and is sent sprawling. Unashamedly, Jhans follows him. The guard glances round nervously and often -- but makes no attempt to stop the bear.

Jhans curiously followed the guard at a stroll through into the cellars, where Hispani sat comfortably behind the think doors, and between windowless walls. She looks up at Jhans, and guards leap between the two. Calmly, Jhans stares down the crossbow bolt held inches from his face. He sweats under his armour.

"I come to speak with Lady Hispani. I mean no harm." His deep growl of a voice faltered over each syllable as Lady Hispani muscled her way into the ring of weapons. She stood before him, hands on hips.

"Speak, bear."


~:†:~

"You really think Crawford should do such a thing?" Lady Hispani had listened attentively to Jhans' plans, and talks with a grim smile on her lips. She knows it will work, Jhans thought.

"Yes. I believe your claims are the strongest -- and the problem can be solved if Kaan is out of the picture. He would never step down, so we are left with one choice. We know he tried to kill you with that sniper, and he may try to do so again." Jhans pulled out his pendant, and steeled his gut. He was setting himself up to fall -- this was a very big gamble. "This is the crest of the bear nations. Once You have disposed of Kaan, the bear armies will help Crawford dominate Choras. I shall personally guard you on your journey back home from any assassins." It was a claim built upon lies. But with Kaan gone, all the matters could well be sorted, all remaining wants met.

Hispani's eyes glinted. Her cruel smile intensified. Drunk on the promise of imminent power, she accepted.

(OoC)
Diplomacy is becoming a very dangerous business, hmm.

OoC: Pish posh and tish tosh to diplomacy...whatever that means.

IC:A thin stream of smoke wafted through the air, pooling around shaggy brown hair. As Jhans the bear lumbered out of the palace, lost in thought, the hooded figure took a final drag from the cigarette before flicking it away. He had had a smoke...so what? It calmed him down. Kellson scratched the spots on his shoulder-blades where his wings normally sprouted. Now, they lay dormant underneath his skin, ready to explode at his call. It was definitely better that he not have them spread when he went on his rampage. Although he planned to leave no witnesses...better safe than sorry.

His face covered by a dark cloth, Kellson strolled into the palace, a purloined cape drawn tightly around him. His normal weapons were gone, replaced by a standard issue sword for the new Choras soldiers--it, too, was stolen. No identifying aspects of the regicide would be seen, besides a helluva lot of blood and guts.

He had watched Jhans walk in, no doubt to talk with the Lady Hispani. Irrelevant. Words came cheap. Death came cheaper, and it stood stronger and more convincing when used as a bargaining chip.

Kellson strode quickly through the palace, head bowed, until he reached Hispani's headquarters. Two blasts of light ripped from his palms, throwing the guards into the wall. A snap echoed as one of the sentry's neck snapped, while the other guard fell to the ground, stunned. Kellson drew his sword, cape flapping, and skewered the man in his neck. A red mist grew in front of his eyes. When the door opened, he held nothing back. Growling, he picked up a fallen blade and charged into the group of stunned guards.

Killing wasn't as much of a game as it was a job. Sometimes it sucked, sometimes it was enjoyable. Sometimes, like today, you just had to grit your teeth and get it done.

OoC: *apologizes for rustiness beforehand*

IC:
Hunter had endured through a mercilessly restless night, only to find himself still confined to his room at the first glimmering rays and tolling bells of dawn. This imprisonment agonized the prince more than any personal hardship could; not being able to mediate the important and pressing affairs of his nation, and not having the ability to steer her away from conflict, should it ever rear its ugly head, struck him more deeply than any attack against himself. He strained himself every now and then when he could catch the faintest whisper, and heard distressing snatches of conversation with words like "murder" and "treason" sprinkled throughout, and yet even when the page opened the heavy wooden door to bring the commander his morning meal, he couldn't catch the entire gist of the previous night's events.

Hunter paced the small stretch of empty space in his quarters until he thought he must have worn a ditch into the stones underfoot, his worry and anxiety causing his hands to tremble and his heart rate to quicken. What were these murders he had heard about? And who, in this supposed meeting of diplomats, was behind them? These sorts of questions stirred unsettling thoughts in the prince's mind. From his frame of view, any death of a Chorastrian was a grave loss to be mournful over; he had to ensure peace, not for any one province like the others gathered at this palace, but for his whole blessed nation.

And, like no other thing was capable of, the letter that arrived for him with a quiet knock on his door drove that responsibility of his home, coupling with it a startling worry that brought horror to the already concerned man. It was addressed from his father, King Levine himself, and it ran:

Word of Mast's death has reached our ears here in Renamor court early this morrow, and with it came news of the enragement of the Ravenfur citizens. Generals of the military tell us that words of war and aggression have been heard in their city, and they fear that the diplomatic efforts at Bartholomew have taken a turn for the worse.

Pray exert thyself to stem this worrisome tide before things get out of hand, and please also, because...thy mother begs it: act in the interest of thy own safety as well, my son.

-King Levine Merridale II of Choras

Hunter folded the letter after reading it and sat upon his bed, feeling weighted down by the news it bore, and even lower in spirits than he had been the night before. I know not how to proceed in such a trying time as this...

OoC: Bah, it's hard to just let you guys do this on your own like I'm supposed to and not get overly involved. <_< Can I graduate with you? ;P

Two drunken soldiers stagger through the rows of tents, arms round each other's shoulders. They sing in a drunken harmony, their voices carrying in the cold air. Together, they curse the pressgangs and the Ravenfur army.

A giant of a man steps from between two tents, draws his sword and mercilessly slaughters them for treason.

It was the start of a lightning-fast rise to power.

~:†:~

Six guards had fallen before Jhans had a chance to react. As Kellson turned, panting slightly, Jhans slammed him with his forearm, catching the renegade in the solarplexis and sending him scuttling. Disreguarding guards, breathing or not, Kellson jumped back to his feet, and jumped in a thrusting glide towards Hispani. He absorbed a blow given clumsily with the flat of a sword, tumbling sideways before --

--that was all the chance Jhans needed. The momentary lapse of speed gave him a chance to leap on Kellson, pinning him to the ground. One of the bear's immense paws rests on the renegade's chest, the other on the flat of his blade. Jhans stares deep into Kellson's eyes as the guard exits hurriedly, with many backwards glances at the bear, and their fallen comrades. Kellson's breathing was heavy, and his eyes flicked between Jhans' in a frenzy, although he makes few efforts to escape the bear's hold.

"That didn't help." Jhans spat, before leaving the room at a canter -- shuffling through the narrow doorway.

It was commendable of him to act, but that action did not help our cause. He should confer with us all before making such rash decisions.

Jhans toyed with the idea of getting Kellson to assasinate Kaan. The plan certainly has its merits... but it would only drag the plan backwards if it was not evidently done by Crawford. Jhans furrowed his brow below his metal hood. Kaan would have to be protected. He spat.

One diplomat inprisoned, one dead, one that refused to speak sense, and one running to safety.

~:†:~

Lightning fast.

He called himself strider. He had been in Ravensfur for four days, and in the army for but three and was alreay a high-ranking officer. He is a giant of a man, they say, resplendant in titanium-alloy plate mail and nothing of his face can be seen through the eye-slits in his helmet. He carries a bone-flail easily in one massive hand.

"Ravensfur was wrong to send a worm like Mast... but he was disposable. You understand what you must do, Strider?"

Strider nodded, slowly.

"You have an escort of five hundred men. Go, and bring me their heads."

Hispani's guards already began to march back in as Jhans left. Kellson flattened himself against a wall as they passed, searching in the fairly large room, and slipped out after the last soldier entered. Hopefully, none of them caught a glimpse of his face.

Striding briskly out of the palace, Kellson shivered unconsciously. Normally, he and Jhans got along fine--he'd never seen the bear get that annoyed, much less angry. Having a huge bear sitting on top of you, all fangs and claws...

"C'mon, snap out of it, mate, you're not afraid of any walking carpet," he reassured himself.

On that note...what the hell had Jhans been doing with Hispani? And what did he mean, that didn't help? Of course it helped. Assassins and whatnot piss everyone off, soldiers come down here and wipe Merridale's country off the face of the earth.

Oh, right. That's only what Kellson wanted. God knew what the bear wanted. While Kellson was sure Jhan's plan was not to destroy Hunter mentally and physically, maybe they had something in common...diplomatically speaking.

"Bugger diplomacy."

The regicide lit a cigarette as he walked, undoing his stolen, blood-stained cloak and tossing it away. Maybe he, Kellson, was going about this the wrong way. His thought process was a bit to straightforward and explosive. That probably wasn't going to work in this whole diplomacy business. He ripped off the cloth covering his face and took a drag from the cigarette. What did he really want? Hunter dead. The best way to do that would be have this city falling down around his princely ears, and then...well, accidents happen in war. Friendly fire and whatnot. He had that part right. All he needed was somebody to raze the city until there was nothing left but dust. Ravenfur would no doubt be sending troops following the news of Mast's grisly death.

Maybe that's why Jhans spoke with Hispani. To stop Ravenfur...or to get Crawford to do the same thing.

Kellson slowed, then shrugged. Hell, he had nothing to lose. He'd go talk to Jhans, and tell him his plan for Hunter's downfall. If Jhans agreed to help, huzzah, sound the war horns. If he didn't...well, who cared about what a bear thought, anyways?

He flicked the cigarette away and dashed after his fellow student.

Jhans turns through the narrow walkway, looking for the entrance to the dungeons, and hence Hunter. This wasn't being made any easier acting as a singular figure. It makes sense to have the crown prince by your side.

Kellson's footfalls were heard. Jhans had expected them. He turned round to meet Kellson, pausing by a mighty oak doorway. Kellson stopped, and stood tall -- his fists, as ever, clenched.

"Well?" Jhans was all teeth and narrowed eyes. Kellson crossed his arms in defiance.

"Well what, bear?"

"Why did you make to kill Hispani?" Jhans was suddenly aware of how very human he sounded. The sentence nearly flowed.

"It plays to my advantage to collapse this country -- I act in my own interests." Jhans cooled, Kellson was doing what he believed was right. It was either delusion or another kind of sanity.

"How will a war help you?"

"I want Hunter dead, Jhans. And soldiers are easily lost in wars. Some are never found." Kellson's eyes flickered in a strange way -- the nearest word would be madness -- but that was far from it. Jhans decided that this was the time to be diplomatic.

"I... do not care what you do with Hunter, but a war will weaken this nation." It wasn't true, but diplomats don't do truth. They work an intricate web of... diplomacy. "Why don't you kill him outright?"

"I see no reason why I should."

"Killing Mast was irrational." Jhans expected some shock here, Kellson shouldn't know that Jhans knew who the assaasin was. If he was surprised, Kellson hid it well.

"So?" Jhans considered his next move.

"You are my friend, and we are both striving towards our own ends. But if you get in the way of mine, I will stop you."

~:†:~

Strider approaches the old wall of Bartholemew, and rides in through a crumbling walkway. Citizens watch them in awe as they ride past.

But he has no interest in them. He reaches onwards, towards the palace. If Kaan does not give in, force shall be necessary. He spits, and dismounts.

Kellson cracked his neck, sneering at a wall. "You'll stop me. Thanks, mate."

"I am serious."

"Yeah, well, so am I." He probably thinks I'm completely cracked, Kellson thought to himself. Can't say I blame him. "I wasn't trying to kill Hispani, though. She's the only one of the diplomats that has a shred of intelligence."

"Then what were you trying to do?" Jhans asked, angling his huge head to one side. Kellson waved the question away with a vague shrug.

"Does it matter? It didn't work, thanks to you."

Jhans growled. "You were slaughtering her guards."

"I was thirsty. Their blood smelled tasty," Kellson answered with fake cheeriness. "Hang on, why were you talking to her, then?"

"We're supposed to be diplomats. I was doing my job."

"Don't give me that. Since I buggered everything up by eighty-sixing Mast, you two sure as hell weren't renegotiating trade contracts."

Jhans held up a paw larger than Kellson's face, looking at a point above his shoulder blankly. "Do you hear that?"

The regicide blinked. "Hear what?"

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Jhans pushed past him and quickly lumbered back the way they had come. "Follow."

"You can't avoid the question just because there's a national crisis taking place!" Kellson called after him. "Oh, damn it all," he mumbled, loping off after the bear.

OoC: Meh at best...so I'll compensate with this: "Come over here and have sex with Charlie Murphy! I'm Rick James, bitch!"

Sometimes the greater part of any plan is making sure no one else knows everything but yourself, or else it won't function correctly. Of course, because everyone else around you is trying to implement the same strategy, everyone ends up little of anything, or a whole lot of nothing.

But paying attention plays a major part. When looking out of the barred windows, one should not unexpectedly find an armed escort of five hundred mounted men. They stand beneath an unfamiliar crest, and Jhans notices the monk's spades on their backs. They didn't intend to get personal, either Kaan surrendered or they ran a massacre through the city. Peering through a slit window by the side of the great oak doors, Jhans sees Hispani and her escort -- flanked by the Ravensfur soldiers.

The leader stands tall before them, standing on a landing on the mighty stone steps, idly throwing a knife up and catching it again in one hand. He wears a mighty bone flail at his waist. He dwarfs the weapon, most men couldn't even lift something like that. It must be alright for him, Jhans thought, hiding behind his mask and flanked by his soldiers to lay siege and ask for war. I'd like to see him do it alone.

A low, calm, but rough voice calls out against the silence. "May the lord of Bartholomew come forth!"

Jhans looks around -- Staff stand silent and terrified, around the foyer, waiting for the impending reply. This is the moment where the great and mighty leader makes some martyr comment that makes everyone feel much more confident, and struts outside, dramatically smashing the doors open before making some smart-arse comments at the besieger, robes epically billowing out behind him. Jhans clenches his jaw, watching strider throwing and catching the knife time and time again, waiting for the footsteps. After a minute of this, he swings around.

Kaan was nowhere to be seen.

"I grow impatient..." Strider's voice calls from outside. The gentle of pad of knife-handle against glove stops.

Forgetting Kellson, Jhans turns around and sprints the stairs, taking them five or more at a time.

~:†:~

Out on the plains to the east of the city, Bartholemew's army idly sharpen their swords, each man quite oblivious of the ensuing siege. Lazily, one lights up a cigar.

(OoC)
I don't pretend to know who Charlie James or Rick Murphy are.

OoC: Who's Rick James? Why, he's Rick James, bitch!!!

IC: Wings erupting from his back and out his trenchcoat, Kellson dashed forward and exploded into the air.

There was shouting from below him; he ignored it completely, pumping his black-feathered wings harder until he was high enough to avoid any arrows the invaders might send at him. Soaring through the air, he banked east and sped onwards.

Damned if he knew who the invaders were, but they were definitely not here to "par-lay." Their leader looked like one of those Scandinavian vikings Kellson had met when he ventured farther north into Europe. Either that or he was a gay clown. Sometimes, it was rather hard to tell.

The smoke of cooking fires wafted lazily into the air in front of him and the glint of armor sparkled in his eyes. Kellson shot toward the ground like an arrow, aiming right for the area of the camp where the fancier tents were pitched--where the generals would be. Ten feet away from the surface, he flared and came to a screeching halt, landing perfectly right on the ground near a group of gaping guards.

"Ready for a fight, boys?" Kellson asked them, then turned without waiting for a reply. "Where's the commander?" he bellowed.

Several official, strong-looking men strode out of the tents. "Who are you?" one asked authoritatively, laying a hand on his sword.

"No matter," Kellson replied, pointing towards the city. "That's your problem, mate. Bunch of bloody soldiers in your own city. Must be five 'undred of 'em, all on horseback."

"Son of a bitc--" one of the guards began, but the commander cut him off.

"You're sure?"

"No," Kellson said. "I just imagined the five hundred invaders sitting around outside the palace."

"Form up!" the commander bellowed. Beside him, the lesser generals started shouting out orders. Kellson grinned to himself and unsheathed his sword. If this didn't screw over Merridale's country, nothing would. He just hoped they would make it in time to bust some heads.

When the army started moving, the regicide stayed close to the generals. If there was one thing he knew, it was that an army without leaders is crazy. An army without leaders in a vulnerable city, with enemies in, will destroy everything in sight.

"Time for a bit of anarchy," he murmured gleefully to himself.

OoC: Andddddddd I'm gone to California. Be back in a week.