Heavy Is The Crown

Edel

Her tone is icy as she adds to Tristan's words.

"I must agree with Lady Asa," she says with a grim smile, deliberately not looking at the drinking Dellebron. "I have little love for those who would kill scholars far from the field of battle,"
 
Lochlynn

"New discoveries are oft found from the shadowed corners of a realm, don't you find?" Lochlynn answers demurely while absentmindedly accepting a drink and canapé before remembering himself and offering a courteous nod to the servant. The gesture distracts him just enough to briefly interrupt the shadowy scritches to the cat below. An abrupt disruption of the purring clueing him in, Lochlynn returns to shadowy scritches and scholarly tête-à-tête: "You give me too much credit though and have my thanks. I shall look forward to reading your revised edition." If he smiles slightly beneath his shroud, none could notice.

"Tell me, do you have any other magi of interest of late on whom you intend to turn your pen?" he asks taking sip of wine.
 
Helena

She smiles, a first genuine smile in a while, lighting up her pallid face, "That sounds wonderful, I must say~ And I would gladly take you up on the offer... should things go our way at all tonight...that is... "
Her expression turns wistful, "War and Grief have stripped me of a lot of the inspiration and motivation to drown myself in my art, like I used to..."
She sighs, "I miss those days. I could go weeks, lost in my newest vision..."
A beat.
"Peacetime always creates the best art... Perhaps with some luck and mercy, I'll have something new to arouse my interests,"
 
For Tristan and Edel

Talia shakes her head; a brief, economical motion. All of her motions are as such, suggesting tremendous power kept in check.
"You surprise me, honourable Tristan. Your actions at Blue Trente were a tragic necessity, but valourous," she says, and then excuses herself.
Ada watches her go, and turns back to you both.
"Talia is our rock," she says, "but you know the essential nature of a rock." She smiles.

For Lochlynn

"I had hoped to interview Isthum Pontar, one of Leticia's underlings," he says, as the cat lolls on the flagstones. "But perhaps our glorious leader has already put her to the sword." He glances at the empty throne. "Or placed her in a cell so dark and deep even your storied kin could reach her."

For Helena

"For all the tragedy of the war," Aphros says, "it did demonstrate what our Houses can do when united in common purpose."
Aphros' closes their eyes, as if savouring something.
"Can you imagine the future we can build, together?"

FOR ALL

Solon, the seneschal, gently taps a crystal glass, the sound carrying from his place on the dais before the throne to all present.
"Dear guests, your attention; I present your host."
He steps aside, gesturing with a melodrama uncommon in this court, as a door behind the throne slides open.
"Djuka Imperus, Lord of Throne and King of Scribes."

Imperus' talons click cleanly and sonorously on the stones. They are dressed in fine silk sashes, draped and tied to protect Their modesty, with silver caps on Their horns. Intense violet eyes scan the room.
"Friends," Imperus says, "I welcome you to my home, in the spirit of the peace we must forge."
They raise their glass. Many in the room follow suit.
 
Tristan

"Taciturn. Laconic, even. I wou-"

Tristan is cut off by the chime of the seneschal..and yet a split second before the crystal in Solon's hand begins to vibrate, Tristan is already looking to him, whatever he had been about to say not so much abandoned as neverborn. If Ada responds to the fractured moment of déjà vu, Tristan doesn't notice.

Imperus' entrance is almost understated, their presence like a silent burst of pressure, a whirlwind centred on their footing. The glass in Tristan's hand seems to raise and bring his arm with it. When Imperus' eyes meet his, the violet of the dragon meeting the boiling pitch black of the layabout general, Tristan nods, his chin dipping to the left. Instinctively, Tristan has taken a step forward and put himself between the dragon and the rest of his family, keeping Edel covered in his shadow. Perhaps Imperus notices. Perhaps they do not.
 
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Edel

She turns to the sharp sound of crystal chimes, seeing the scaled form of Imperus step forth. Five eyes peer towards Their form, and she purses her lips, the beginnings of a frown forming on her face. Hesitantly, she lifts her own glass, looking up to meet the gaze of the dragon, a heat roiling in her chest. The frown starts to change, a sliver of black teeth between black lips, brow furrowing deeper, her eyes narrowing as-

But before violet eyes can meet violet eyes, a darkness falls between them. Edel blinks, toast faltering, expression forgotten. Taking a dazed step backwards, she stares up into the shadow falling over her.

For a moment, her heart stills, the form all at once familiar and impossible. She blinks again, long and hard, trying to clear the sudden blurring in her sight. Ignoring the the wet trail that streaks down a cheek, Edel looks up again, only to see Tristan standing before her.

His back is straight, his form languid, but there's a surety about his posture, a subtle warning all but invisible.

This far, and no further.
 
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Helena

Imperius' arrival was something she was prepared for, ever since she had stepped out of that carriage. Steeled herself for. Kept her voice calm and expression tempered for.

But now... now they were in the room, and now she half-heartedly raised a glass in unison with everyone there...
Now she could see, and hear. And feel their presence weighing on the air in the room like a lead ball, sitting in the pit of her stomach.
Now, the thoughts tumbled over each over in an effort to be felt.

The irony.
The House of Hatred.
Oh.
OH, How I h a t e you.
No simpering, no dulling. No social etiquette of 'Let's not take this to extremes,' so often called for by her own house's disposition and the frivolous pandering of the noble background. No, there was no de-clawed, 'I dislike, I find unpalattable, I find regretable, I find it not quite,' - No. It is not good enough.

I hate you.
You, and your stupid, selfish, fucking sister-daughter whatever the fuck you are to each other, and your selfish quarreling, your petty need for your transcended dick measuring contest, and dragged us all in for the ride. And we were the ones who suffered most for it.
Oh, how I fucking hate you.

The thinnest cracks spider from her talon points on the thin glass vice-gripped in her hand.
She stopped herself short, and sips from it, to prevent herself from showing anything further.
 
Lochlynn

Imperus' entrance interrupts Lochlynn's response to Griffith and his thoughts on searching the palace shadows for Isthum Pontar, so instead he provides Griffith a courteous but curt nod and turns his own attention to the throne. The clicking of talons pricks his sensitive ears beneath the shroud and elicit a grimace, but he raises his glass begrudgingly toward the throne.

Then, a shadow falls over him. It is not his own, but it is known to him. "A comfortable fit, cousin," he thinks while settling into the shadow and the knowledge that he can now more easily slip through the surrounding shadows through Tristan's. Still for now, he stands and observes the throne with his glass raised.
 
If Imperus notices Tristan's act, They are give no clue - Their expression is reptilian, impassive, but Their voice seems sincere.
"We have all lost so much to this senseless conflict. A display of hubris that brought the world low." They lower the glass, swirl the contents in throughtful fashion.
"I left my daughters unchecked, and so some of this blood must be on my hands. But I promise; never again. Together we will build a lasting peace, and never again will our kin try to claim dominion over the free peoples of our land."
They give the Lezekim a pointed look at that, quick as a stab in the back.
"Those who would seek our aegis must do so of their own volition."
Apollyon remains the picture of aloof derision.
One taloned hand gestures to those black robed mortals, who in response take the dais to Imperus' left.
"To aid in this, behold: an Inquisition. Mortals without political affiliation, empowered to police our excesses."
A collective breath is held. Asa in particular seems about to object.
"Even me," Imperus finishes.

Immediately voices are raised.
"An insanity, Excellence-"
"-really is insulting-"
One of the Lybar laughs uncontrollably.
"-lost your mind-"

Imperus weathers the noise like a mountain wreathed in storm.
 
Dellebron

In the deluge of noise, Dellebron Felicia is one of the ones to laugh, a low chuckle that nevertheless cuts through the clamour like a blade.

"You really think these maggots can equal an Ascended?" she calls, shaking her head. "They could hardly be a match for a Lezek, or even an Olimak,"

She raises a hand, the other wiping a tear of mirth from her eyes.

"No no, do go on," continues Felicia. "If one of these little crows can stand against one of our own striplings, then by all means, set them up as our wardens. You have my blessing,"
 
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Helena

At this news, her pale eyes widen. The cogs turn, and her expression acrobats between alarm, confusion, anger, then bemusement.
In the midst of the cacophonous uproar, she sidles alongside her relatives.

"Police our excesses," She quotes, dryly, "I wonder what they consider 'excess' given our lineages..."
 
Tristan

Yes, that will impress Them. Everyone shout at once and be vocally upset.

Tristan steps forward, but his moment to speak ceases before it begins, as the Dellebron voices her challenge. He listens, then turns to Helena.

"That's the crux of it. Imperus wants to create law, wants to take honour and make it into script. If you act, thus we punish. This is more than just a peace treaty, Imperus intends to write up the big book of How Have The Ascended Fucked It Today."

He smiles.

"The proposed framework of the law will tell us much of Imperus' values and beliefs....and conversely, should we think we know Them, we can perhaps make predictions of their edict. First though, we find out whether Their sheriffs can impose the law. Sweet niece of craft, can you smell lionbrass?"
 
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Helena

"History is written by the victors..." she muses.

At her Uncle's question, she inhales. Not so much with her lungs, but with her entire frame.
The bruise blue tattoos taking up every inch of her exposed skin shiver. The mothwing eyes blinking, the rose thorns writhing and the leaves rippling. The effect is so subtle it could be a moving eye picture that caught you off guard. Blink and you miss it.

"I believe I do..." her grim smile is caught between elation and petrified.
 
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Lezek Apollyon steps forth, raising one perfect hand.
"Indeed, let us see them try," he says, "Lezek Kanis will face one."

Imperus is still as the room absorbs this, and finally relents.
"Very well."
They do not sigh, but everyone present feels an overwhelming sentiment of having disappointed a parent.

The assembly files out and into the old area one room north. Attendants are busily removing paintings and sculptures.
"A gallery?" says Lybar Agnetta, the most renowned physician in a family of supernaturally capable doctors.
Imperus waves a taloned hand.
"I had intended to abandon trial by combat and put the space to some better use," They say, watching a pair of servants ferry away a portrait of the imposing Djuka Ramses, Imperus' late uncle.

Everyone assembles in their appropriate seats. Some of you have been here before.

Lezek Kanis, a thickly set youth with flowing blonde locks and glowing golden eyes, steps into the ring and is handed a remarkably simple claymore. The weapon seems weightless in his large hands, wielded with an efficient grace.

The black-robed figures talk among themselves, in a wholly unrecognizable language. That is curious - House Hulbrad has long prided itself on Scions who could speak a little of every known tongue.
After some deliberation, a rat steps forth. Their snout has clearly been broken and reset with iron pins, and there's a look in their eye which Tristan certainly recognizes. Perhaps even he has looked out over a cooling battlefield with those same eyes.

Solon takes his place at the podium beside Imperus' seat, no higher than the rest but at the centre of the semi-circle, and clears his throat.

"Lezek Kanis, you will test the might of Inquisitor Ramis of the Puzzle," he says. "To first blood."

One of the other Inquisitors hands Ramis a finely worked Lionbrass hammer - one handed to a human, but more a warhammer to the rat.
They exchange words, and then the fighters turn to face each other.
"Triumph here, Kanis," Apollyon says, voice carrying without being raised. "And you will have earned your place at my hand."
Unspoken is the penalty for failure - exile.

Kanis maintains face, but faintly muttered you catch: "Holy Querene, forgive me this violence."

Ramis holds the hammer low, one-handed, facing Kanis with an open stance.
Kanis hefts the claymore over his shoulder and raises his left fist.

A moment passes, the air heavy.

"Fight!" Solon shouts.

Immediately, Ramis reaches under her robe and throw something at the Lezek. In the splitsecond available, you see her sweep her robe in front of her face. The other Inquisitors look away. Kanis catches something small and dark out of the air.

And then there is a deafening sound, a flash of light. Your vision clears in time to see Kanis narrowly fend off a hammerblow to the knee before turning his momentum into a kick right at the rat's face. She's quick, already ducking in low under the leg, drawing a knife to stab him in the thigh.
He pirouettes, bringing his sword around to neatly decapitate the rat - but she raises the haft of the hammer into his path, and with a shriek of metal his sword breaks against it, the power flashing from the steel.
Kanis cannot recover his composure before she rises to her feet, leaving the knife on the ground, sweeping the hammer up from the flagstones to snap his ankle.

Kanis falls with a strangled cry, his light dimming, and Ramis stands over him, panting

"First blood!" Solon declares.
There is a brief explosion of shouting, and applause from the other Inquisitors. Someone voices the idea of cheating, but Apollyon interrupts with a swipe of his hand.
"It was honourable," he says, and looks directly at Kanis, prone and being treated by Agnetta. "I have two sons." he adds, heavy with finality.

There is a pause, as this sinks in, and silent tears roll down Kanis' face.

Imperus stands.
"May we now proceed with the treaties?"
 
Tristan

Well then. She’s excellent. Pragmatic. Appropriately armed.

Imperus has been planning this for some time. That tongue they spoke...I must inquire.


These thoughts, though, are a calm and rational layer floating atop a singular moment of grief, almost disproportionate to what he has witnessed.

Tristan moves with unsettling grace, flowing like shadows under a midday sun, to cross the barrier. He ignores Imperus for a moment, and glances towards Apollyon with dark eyes and a sober expression, before approaching the downed Kanis and Doctor Agnetta.

Tristan crouches beside him, and waits a moment, just to ensure that he’s not getting in Agnetta’s way.

“Lezek Kanis. Your father has made his decision, and it is...apt for your House, but this war has taught us a sad lesson. We do not have so many sons left that we can deprive ourselves of a proud young man, sent into a fair defeat at the hands of a hardened enemy. Please remember that. I ask you this, Kanis, do not succumb to despair or hatred. A season from now, come see me. We will be rebuilding, and I think that I would welcome a glass of wine in your company.”

Tristan’s dark eyes shed wisps of shadow as he looks down into Kanis’ golden glare.

“The days to come will be hard for you. I know. Before pride and rage and love destroy you, see me, or see Arcule. We want you to live.”

Tristan pauses for a moment, to let Kanis spit defiance if he chooses.
 
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Dellebron

Felica's laugh can just be heard alongside Tristan's words. Not the high pitched cackle of some cold mistress, but the low, half hearted chuckle of someone who has heard a mediocre joke that will soon fall out of memory. Still, the way her eyes glitter darkly as she regards the blackcloaks has little of humor in it, seeming more like the impassive leer of one predator weighing up another.

Hilda and her son, Cines, have fallen into careful whispers, her face creased with deep thought. She taps her walking stick against the tile in a strict rhythm, her eyes not straying from either Imperus or the Inquisitors.

Sura, Lars, and Maria all remain quiet. Sura, wrapped as he is in his thick robes and mask, is difficult to determine how he feels about this development. Lars, on the other hand, has a look of grim satisfaction on his bearded face, a low clap of his own joining the Inquisitors cheering.

Maria simply watches Kanis, an icy statue, save for the slow shift of her breathing.
 
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Edel

Edel stands transfixed by what she has seen, a kind of strange disbelief at the horror she has just witnessed.

Not the violence, no. To that, she is more than inured by the ravages of war and the aftermath of battle. To watch the life ebb from anothers eyes is terrible, true, and this clash is but a pale candle to that scene.

It is not to the strength of the mortal, striking down an Ascended, neither. Distinct from the thoughts of some her peers and cousins, Edel knows that Ascended die to the blade as readily as anyone else, a lesson that has scarred her deeply.

No, the true revulsion comes from the fate of Kanis. To be discarded by ones own blood, for failing before a superior opponent. To do so publicly, before all others, unmindful of the blood shed, of the family who would not be returning. For those bonds to be severed so callously...

Before anything can cross her lips, words or gorge, Tristan once again steps before her. This time, not as a shield, but as an alm to the fallen boy.

A twinge of pride flickers insider Edel's chest, and she suppresses a smile towards her uncle.
 
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Lochlynn

Lochlynn is dimly aware that a fight takes place and ends much as he had suspected it must. Imperus would not begin doing things by halves now after winning a war.

Instead, he spends the entire time from the first word uttered in this new tongue wrapped in contemplation, mentally transcribing the sounds as best he can, dipping into Tristan's shadow to get a better listen through the shadows, all until Ramis discards Kanis. This too is not so surprising from the Lezek though it is disheartening still. He scans the crowd to read House Lezek's reactions while making a mental note to commit his mental transcriptions to paper as soon as possible.
 
Helena

She sweeps over to one of the servants, a hand on her chest and a soft forgiving smile in thanks, as she removes a tall fluted glass filled with a fine sample and slinks back to her family, offering the metaphorical olive branch by Tristan's side.

Imperius's mention of "treaties" did not go unoticed in her ears, and she sidles to gauge the Dragon's reaction to her families' sudden comforting.
 
For Tristan

Kanis offers a tight nod. Agnetta smiles approvingly. From the corner of your eye, you see Arcule start to raise his hand, but stops - no doubt at a look from Apolloyon.

For Helena

Imperus appears wholly impassive - but then They say something you can't hear to one of the newly minted Inquisitors - a woman with handprint burned white into the left side of her face., left eye a spiked jewel. She's watching intently, and nods at Their words.

Everyone

You are conveyed back to the throneroom, where a long table and seats have been set up; some very large indeed. Some more doors are opened on the opposite side of the room, leading to a banquet hall.

Imperus takes a seat at the head of the table.

"Each House shall now nominate a representative and an aide from among their number, to sit at this negotation. The rest of you may enjoy yourselves in the neighbouring room."

At the edges of the room are black-clad clerks carrying armfuls of scrolls and books.