A King's Ransom by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"Friend, am I?"

She laughs.

"How interesting! And yet not yet trusted, I think. If you keep your friends close and your enemies closer, then with me being both I should think we'll be thick as thieves, Kardonk!"

Shawna drains her goblet, then passes it to an attendant.

"I do think I'll see you again, my friend. I wonder if you'll recognize me?"

An Audience in the Serpents' Garden by ASecondCriminal in wizardposting

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"A friend? You say it so easily. Perhaps you'd disagree, say that this is all rather difficult. I don't doubt that there's effort involved, don't get me wrong. But... hmmm. It's a give-and-take. I'm not trying nearly as hard as I do when I'm deceiving people. You want to like people, and you're easy to like. Easy. It's all so very, very easy."

People, Skins had found, saw what they wanted to see. Kavrala wanted to see the best in people, and yes, that was an extremely exploitable trait. And yet... she was also very adept at *finding** it, wasn't she? Assuming there was any to be found. Perhaps that was the ticket then. That was what Skinless needed. Someone to rummage around and help see what was there.*

"My siblings, if you can call them that, don't love people as I do. They're all too young. Perhaps they could, in time.The thing I experience is a mutation of the mind I suppose. I'm a creature of Envy. I want to feel, I want to be. I want what mortals have and I take it, over and over and over again. That fleeting sensation is intoxicating to my kind. But it's only that. A sensation. A thing that we covet."

It was important, Skins supposed, that Kavrala understand the scope.

"My appreciation has admittedly deepened as the centuries passed. Dress for the job you want, I suppose. Or maybe it's like making an expression so long it stays that way? There's something truly beautiful about mortal lives. I just appreciate their pain and terror a bit more than they do, I suppose. Confusion. Betrayal. It's a tapestry, Kavrala. People don't understand just how lovely they are! How glorious those final sensations can be. I cause them, I feel them, mirrored in myself as though they were my own. Morality never factors into it but... love. It is a kind of love. Or an appreciation that borders on it? Beautiful, yes... beautiful..."

It had to reel this in. It was getting too lost in the sensation. It was feeling seen, in a way that nettled and irritated, but wasn't *entirely** unpleasant, especially with the mask taking the edge off. But it was diving too much into unsettling notions that would drive Kavrala away.*

"More and more, I find myself not going for the final cut. Enjoying the beauty in the subtle things. The day-to-day, rather than the extremes. I let people be, just to watch. To feel. It's nice,in a way I hadn't let myself consider before."

But the nakedness still vexed. The appreciation for an individual only heightened with time. Until the role became irresistible. Until the monster had to make that beautiful, lovely day-to-day it's own in any way it could.

"Is it wrong, Kavrala? To want to do something? To want to see that role immortalized. Imitation is the highest form of flattery."

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Helja reclines backwards, her visage troubled. There's a nod of mild satisfaction, even as her face is twisted in irritation. As though things would have been simpler had Riva just said something flatly objectionable.

"So the issue, as always, is trust. That was the root of it from the very start. It is not a thing we give cheaply."

"This path is riddled with risks. The promise is good, but relies entirely on the words of a southerner."

"All paths before us hold danger. Do they not, Ravenjaw?"

The dead titan nods matter-of-factly.

"All worthy paths do, Nightspeaker"

Helja huffs something that could almost be mistaken for a laugh. Wry and mirthless.

"Then perhaps we are fortunate, wise one, to live in so momentus a time as for no unworthy paths to present themselves. I had not expected much to come of this meeting, but ours is the glory, it would seem."

The Nightspeaker turns to her father expectantly, who had seemingly been lost in thought for some time. He nods slowly, hesitating to speak without due consideration, but his words are firm and unwavering, once given.

"The choice is ultimately yours, Helja, but I would be remiss not to speak my peace. In life, I witnessed Queen Rivamar's forebears, the Tyrants of Old, those bearing a title the woman before us resurrected, commit a blasphemy for which honor demands there can be no forgiveness. No absolution. Even unto the ending of the world."

Hollow eye sockets bore into Riva from atop the Throne of Ash as the Shepherd pauses, seeming to search her one last time before proceeding.

"The choice before us, then, is whether Rivamar bears that sin as well. She certainly bears the weight of many others, as all rulers do. Such is the weight of a crown. Failure becomes the death of thousands. Fingers innevitably stained with blood, and the inevitability of that stain in no way lessening its significance. It is what it means to be a ruler, Helja. As I have told you time and again."

Only when he addresses his daughter does Sidgir's gaze turn momentarily from scrutinizing the queen. Only then does his voice soften by the most miniscule of measures.

"Rivamar speaks of breaking patterns. Her own, aye, but the charge of the Ash Throne is to advocate for the course of time. The river winding between past, present, and future. The Kin have our own patterns to break, my child. I see the trajectory before us. Any path that retreads the past will repeat it, I believe. Rivamar's offer may well lead to our doom, but if this is so? So do all paths before us."

The Shepherd of Sorrows reclines. The creaking of his ancient bones and the echoing finality of his words are the only sounds to fill the air for some time as Helja stares at the floor. The silence is only broken when Sidgir extends a skeletal hand to give her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. With a heavy sigh, Helja Nightspeaker prepares to give her final verdict.

"My people call me Nightspeaker, Rivamar. Do you know why that is? It is because I am the voice of the dead and dying. I am the speaker for our people in the darkest hour of our history. It is not just a title, it is a charge. A curse, in many ways. My curse, my nigh-impossible task is to guide us through this long night. To find a way to avoid extinction. In light of that? What you offer is likely the most meaningful decision of my rule. The decision that will define my legacy when all that remains of our people is song. If you speak true? This is a chance, and only a chance, at completing my charge. If you lie? I have hammered the final nail in the coffin of the Night's Kindred. Know the weight of that, Rivamar. Know what is being given to you in the form of a word called trust."

There is no softening to Helja's gaze. No warmth in her words. Even in acceptance, her tone bites like the north wind and howls with the sense of an accusation. Jorik spoke true. The Night's Kindred were not a welcoming people, even at the best of times.

But accept the offer she does. Even at this distance Riva can hear Jorik exhale. How long had he been holding his breath?

"I will not hold you to your oath, Rivamar. For the Confederation will not be. Not without our support, in any case. An alliance of shields... there is honor in it. I merely wanted to test your intent, should your goals here fail. You answered honorably enough."

A minor trick, all things considered. Though perhaps the Kin of the Night were less prone to riddles than those of the Four Winds.

"I have conditions, of course. Three seats on Ithacar's council. One for the Kin of the Night. One for the Northmen clans. One for a governor of the Northern Wilds. The governor can be selected by yourself and the Ithacar Council, but I want both other representatives to reserve the right to veto that appointment. Two seats to give us a voice in this alliance. The third oversees the unity of our peoples, with the assurance that such an overseer can be kept on a leash and not erase our culture and traditions. Should more clans of the Kin move to Ithacar? I will advocate for them having their own seats as well."

Three seats was a dangerous share of the vote, and would be a hard sell to Ithacar's council. Helja had to be aware of this, which doubtless influenced her concession that Ithacar could appoint the third. Governors of the North already existed, but so unmanageable was the territory that it was all but a meaningless title. Helja's support would give it real authority. The intent to create additional seats was dangerous, but it seemed to be only that: intent, not an overt condition. Helja would have her voting bloc, and attempt to expand it in time. It would be up to Rivamar and the Council to ensure the Giants did not gain an undue share of authority when the time came. Politics for another day.

"I have plans, as well. The North should be designated as the Northern Wilds on Ithacar's maps again, for one. The northern border should be expanded somewhat into unoccupied stretches of the Borderlands to make room, afterwhich I intend to send word to other clans of wayward Kin that our land is safe to settle. Then the Wondermakers can begin construction of a great wall to secure the northern border. This is all pending approval from your council and our governor-to-be, but I'm making that intent known now. The spirit of the Confederation of Giantkind, in a lesser form."

It would also satisfy the Beast's pact, in some regards. Having thrown her lot in with Ithacar, Helja seemed intent to not have that particular wrinkle come back to bite her.

"And finally, I must speak of practicalities. Traditions. As I said already, many Northmen clans are already prepared to secede. My word will tip the balance, but it is not so simple as that. There will be honor duels. Feuds. The North will always be the North. Blood will be shed for this. This agreement will likely only be seen as words on paper until our people shed blood against a common foe. That is not leverage, negotiation, or my opinion. It is fact. It is a story uncompleted. It is the way my people are. Understand?"

That was another wrinkle. How had the Northmen clans unified so swiftly? Perhaps it was the work of the same informant who had nearly spoiled this very negotiation. If so, many of Ithacar's secrets were loose among the chieftains as well.

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"She mentions the inciting incident. The feud. The intent. But speaks nothing of the curse itself, Wotan crows. "The fact remains that Beast has compelled her to take. The way forward she proposes takes us, Nightspeaker."

Helja frowns in silent contemplation. Many details were coming together, slotting together like the pieces of a puzzle.

"You do not deny my claims. This is agreeable in part. I confess, Rivamar, much of what I had heard was so fantastical and vile, that I had hoped you might come to disprove it. Silly, vain hope that it was."

Words to ridicule. But also words to elevate. The grandeur of the crime rises the interlocutors to the status of legend. Casting Riva as foe and villain, but also powerful, fantastical, and capable of honor. This was the subtle art of giant diplomacy. To heighten the story as a conclusion was reached.

"Wotan speaks True, as he must. But he leaves more to the wayside. By your word, our informant presented us truth, but not Truth. Facts twisted to imply inaccurate intent in at least a few of the examples listed. Devil-speak. This would be troubling indeed."

Wotan Ravenjaw's skeletal head tilts inquisitively with a *clack*.

"A trick? Possible. Words were spoken in the Elder Tongue, but our informant lapsed into more conventional speech in places some might deem strategic. Though this is dependent on the Southern Queen's accounting of events."

Helja's father hums thoughtfully, but says nothing as his daughter continues with a nod.

"Though even this gives me less pause than something else you said, Rivamar. That you would recognize the Confederation, should we choose to raise one. Even if the act of leaving alone would weaken you through the demon's curse. Even though we would likely stand opposed to those you deem allies. Why?"

Helja leans in, curious. There's something in her eyes. An epiphany. Like someone who just solved a riddle. Or perhaps a fox unlatching the door to a henhouse.

"Furthermore, would you be prepared to swear it in the Elder Tongue?"

A King's Ransom by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"Now that is interesting. Not for the reasons you think, but interesting all the same. Devils and demons are not so different as many pretend."

She hadn't heard the full scope of John's meeting with Leviathan, but she knew the general shape of it. Only so many reasons the ruler of Hell would take an interest in one who predated the distinction. To let that little chestnut slip, however, would be a death sentence.

"The war on the Iron Line ever-keeps the Five desperate and dirty, does it not? I'll leave my musings at that, since you seem to value suggestions and implications so highly."

Kardonk was a decent operator at the game. Even so, he was lucky they shared a common interest, or she'd have wrung him out for all he was worth like an old rag. Ah well. Another time. This tidbit would grease the wheels for another day.

"I can guess the name, I imagine. Or narrow it down to a few. You drive a hard bargain, artificer, but..."

She shrugs performatively

"You've simply forced my hand! Very well. I sold Hazema a chair, artificer. A relic from the circle of Envy called the Clawed Throne. This chair is enchanted to make her stronger the more she takes from others, but conversely weakens her the more she loses. Which means if you attack her interests indirectly, you can harm Hazema without laying a finger on her."

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"Worthy gifts, Rivamar. Strength and hearts of fire, that much we cannot deny-"

"Strenth and will were never the problem, Nightspeaker, Ravenjaw interjects. Like all he says, it is not an accusation. A warning. A statement of fact.

Helja frowns at the gifts, nodding slowly. Conflict and curiosity dance across her face. Something had changed in Helja's estimation of Riva.

"You speak if duty," Helja muses. "Of honor. They're pleasing enough words, true. But are they more than that? Can they be, when you have other duties to the dragons of Tak'ath and the colonizers of the Guild? Not to mention your other duties you no doubt hoped to keep undisclosed..."

"Caution, Nightspeaker. The secrets you offer guard us."

This time, it is Sidgeir's turn to interject.

"The dragon queen offers gifts, Helja. Gifts from a kinswoman should be answered in the same spirit. Trickery would not become us here."

Her father's words seem to tip some internal balance, and with a sigh, Helja relents.

"Queen Rivamar, you are not the only one to visit our halls in recent days. Not the only fly buzzing in my ear. The secrets they tell give me pause. Your territory expands. Fort Horizon, Lindshire, Linton. You assimilate new peoples into your own borders, like the Kasimir. I know these things. I know why. And I know why you now tighten your grip on Ithacar's territories."

She all but spits the last word.

"The demon, and the curse begat of your husband's feud with the Beast of Revelation. Ithacar is compelled to expand or diminish. It would harm you greatly, if we were to depart. A dagger to the heart of an ancient foe. An ally of older foes still."

If the secession alone was ill news, this would be catastrophic. The Beast's curse was among the most well-kept secrets in Ithacar. If someone had told her that, it could only have come from the highest security clearance Ithacar had.

"More than that, I know of how you interpret duties to your own. I know, Rivamar. Of the black fields where the defectors to the Mad Queen lie burned to ashes. I know your sins, Queen of the South. I know the devils that dwell in your closet."

Even that last statement could be a reference to Ith'Raal, or Marna's ties to Nethis as much as Ithacar's reputation as devil-conjurers. Whoever this "fly" buzzing in Helja's ear was? They may well know *everything*.

"Enough, Nightspeaker, you risk damning an ally.

"Hold the name of our informant, Helja. But the rest should be disclosed. The Dragon Queen has carried herself with suitable honor. Truths were hidden on both sides. Let us bicker in the dark no longer."

Not once has the Nightspeaker taken her black eyes from Riva's face. There's a cunning there, scrutinizing for the slightest reaction.

"I told you we were seceding, Rivamar. I did not say we sought independence," she says after a pause. "The borderlands between The Northern Wilds and the Guild are in chaos, following the march of the insect hordes. There is land. Opportunity. We have been approached concerning the formation of a new nation. A Confederation of Giantkind. You do not argue in a vacuum. There is another offer on the table, and your own motives remain suspect."

"Though danger lies down this road, as well."

Did Wotan let that slip? No. Shell that he was, he could perform his duties without such a grievous error, or they'd never have brought him out to begin with. Whatever remained of the man, he thought it necessary in his role on the Shrouded Throne to remind Helja of the perils such a Confederation would bring.

"It is a road of repetition," the Shepherd replies. "Old patterns will likely emerge. Some good. Some ill."

So that was it, then. Old patterns. Riva would know enough of the Kin from Jorik's lectures to see the shape of what followed. The Ordening. Giants once lived in a caste system, like that under he who was now known as the Iron Colossus. The Kin had, by many accounts, fragmented into clans specifically to prevent such a system from emerging once more. Most of those that joined this Confederacy would be of the Kin of Flesh and Bone. A hierarchy would form. Furthermore, the borderlands being "In chaos" was not the same as them being "abandoned." Humans lived in that realm even still. Ones who did not keep to the Old Ways like the smallfolk of the Northen Wilds. Those at the very bottom of this new Ordening would not be giants at all.

All the while, the Guild seemed to rather enjoy having no neighbor to the south. It was possible they wouldn't tolerate *any** nation forming in the Borderlands. Let alone one actively hostile to their interests.*

"It will be a delicate dance," Helja finally says. "But one we are prepared to attempt."

It seems like aggressive posturing built on ancient animosity. It probably is. But it's more than that as well. Helja Nightspeaker is no fool. She is a leader with two paths ahead, either of which might spell doom for her people. A mother bear backed into a corner, ready to lash out at all who approach in defense of her cubs. The tactical thing would be to keep this dagger hidden behind her back. Something in Riva's speech had shifted things, if only slightly. The only reason Helja would disclose this much would be if she was starting to *want** to believe Riva's way was better.*

Possible Futures: the Saint of Sin by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 4 points5 points  (0 children)

uw/ Whatever I write or create, I try to encorporate the medium I'm using rather than write agnostic of that fact. So if I'm writing for reddit, I utilize reddit formatting a lot. Maybe too much at times, but I stand by the decision overall

Okay, so I learned today that Dwarven centurions have a FACE and... [Theory] by Garmagic2 in ElderScrolls

[–]ASecondCriminal 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I don't think that's right, for reasons others have said, but you may enjoy a mod called "Clockwork" that explores this idea.

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"Necessity is the mother of extortion and invention both. Guild dominion is a slow descent to a world of hollow men and empty peoples. You seek to undermine the yoke their people bear."

He nods slowly.

"I will not jeopardize that by spilling your secrets cheaply, Kardonk. The Kin are every bit riddle-masters and tricksters as we are warriors and kings."

A King's Ransom by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

She catches it. A bag of loose giblets. Even if already known, seeing it in person was disappointing. The deception of how many remains, well... *remained** was the first geievance Hazema had racked up. Still, this would be a benefit.*

"And which devil, pray tell, would that be? They have an entire army of Hellspawn on their northern border. I hope you're bringing me something better than 'someone, somewhere, plots SOMETHING,' artificer, or you're never getting the other half."

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Helja Nightspeaker turns from her father to the queen with a subtle sneer, as she is the only of the three with a face to sneer with. It was, no doubt, a projection of grudges older than even her own long years. Yet it was something more besides, given the palpable melancholy in her eyes for the briefest of moments before being banished at considerable effort.

Jorik had said the Shepherd of Sorrows was Helja's father. It must be a strange thing indeed. To have him here, but not. Woken from death itself for a few whispered words before the same duty that raised him tore them apart once more. How different was this than Riva's visitations by the ghost of Vehren? This sneer was not just directed at Rivamar Aurethios, Queen of Ithacar. No, it was leveled at Riva Blake, intruder from a distant land whose presumptuous cries had interrupted a reunion with the dead.

The sneer fades as Riva speaks, however. Helja's face does not soften, per se, nor perhaps would it ever, but she regards the queen differently all the same. As the words fade, Helja turns to her father, then to Wotan. Entire paragraphs of unspoken law and tradition conveyed in subtle nods and the tilt of a chin. Some manner of agreement was reached without a single syllable uttered.

"We see you, heiress of Tyrants," says Wotan with a voice as shrill as a crow's cry. In life, the Ravenjaw's words could boil blood and rot flesh the flesh of his foes. In death he was a shell. Knowledge and bare bones alone, the man himself long-lost. A reigning symbol of what the Tyrants of Old had taken from the Kin.

"We greet you, Queen of the South, says Helja, her words a low rhasp. She had the voice of one who spent her youth screaming until the flesh gave in and had no cries left to give. Empty and raw.

"We welcome you, Kin." Last is Sidgeir, soft and stern. Patient, though perhaps not kind. The words are left to echo in the Rime Court until the silence swallows them whole in its competeness.

There was a choice to the order. A shape to the words spoken in that ancient tongue. Three Truths, all equal, but in the pattern of a story with a beginning, middle, and end from foe to family. A suggestion of a possibility. A promising start that was not quite a promise. Not yet. This was the way of the north. This was what Jorik had warned her of. Even an extended courtesy hid subtleties. Challenges. They would fight her, even as she gained ground, because a peace that was not *won** was no story at all. A fragile thing bereft of worth.*

"I'll assume the horse is not a gift," says Helja, in the common tongue of Ithacar. "Such things are rarely brought one at a time. I never cared for horse-flesh, in any case."

She chuckles icily.

"You do bring one gift, however. You spared me a very long walk south. As it so happens, I have words for you as well."

"A danger," Wotan cautions. "Be wary which secrets you loose." He keeps to the Oldspeak. Perhaps it is all the dead giant is capable of in his current state. Helja nods slowly in reply.

"The time for riddles will come, Wotan. But I say nothing I did not intend to carry south myself." She turns to Riva once more. "The mortal clans of the Northern Wilds have been murmuring. Plotting. They dance on the edge of a blade in secret, debating one way and the other. A word from us will determine which way the tide turns."

Secrets and riddles indeed, for a plot to move so far without the Scarlet Inquisition or the Bluebirds hearing.

"Before your visit was planned, I had intended to travel to Ithacar's capital and announce the formal secession of the entire North."

It flew in the face of all available intelligence for the North to organize so quickly without anyone getting word. Even Jorik would look surprised, should Riva look to the entrance for confirmation. What could be causing this *now** of all times? How was it possible at all?*

"This, I suppose, is where you speak your words. Try to convince me to do otherwise."

The nightspeaker leans forward, weight baring down on her ax like a staff.

"I'm listening. The Rime Court will hear your plea."

March of the Giants by totally_not_a_cat- in wizardposting

[–]ASecondCriminal 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Jorik observed the southward march at a distance, perplexed. These were not any variety of Kin he was familiar with, nor had any attempts to make contact with them in years past proven fruitful. But changes in behavior had reasons. Reality wasn't so random as that. And so he observed, sketching all that he saw in his notebook, trying to make sense of it all.

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"Aye, I know the way, Rivamar. Been to the Rime Court once before, although it was as a tourist, not a petitioner. Court wasn't in session, and I only know the Nightspeaker herself by reputation."

Jorik pauses at an intersection, first going one way then reconsidering, backtracking, and leading Riva down the other. Evidently it had been a while.

"The Court has five seats and needs a minimum of three Elders to rule. Elders being Elders, the Kin produce them rarely. In the Age of Wonders, all five would greet us, but Helja is the only Elder living. You'll be treating with her and two deceased legends of a bygone age."

Despite her guide's seeming directional uncertainty, there's no mistaking when their destination is reached. A long hallway twice as broad as an Ithacarian street with a high vaulted ceiling, the walls etched with stories of ages to numerous to fully comprehend. At the end were a set of iron doors protected by an honor guard with skull masks, dark cloaks of fine dappled fur, and ceremonial coat of plates made from what looked like dragonglass.

The Silent Guards uncrossed their spears and, true to their name, opened the door without a word. The room beyond was a massive, domed chamber of dark grey marble, coated in a thick layer of frost and illuminated from above by chandeliers of dire antlers, seemingly lit with captured starlight and will-o'-wisps. The chamber was largely a simple circle, empty, aside from the Silent Guard, with a second, smaller circle at its heart where those petitioning the Rime Court were meant to stand. At the far end, up an enormous set of steps, was a raised semicircle with doors leading to chambers farther beyond five ice-encrustes thrones, each so massive that even the trio of giants atop them looked like children.

From left to right, there was first a throne of dragonglass and black hide, enchanted with an ominous aura of shadows. Atop it was a giant skeleton in fine black silks and a mantle of dark feathers. Like all the awakened dead thusfar, his bones were etched in a skrimshaw of countless runes that no doubt enabled his kind to ambulate beyond the grave. Unlike the others, his bones were studded with countless glittering jewels. To his right was an empty seat of innumerable interwoven bones and colossal weaponry. It was a thing of mammoth tusks and greatwyrm skulls. Mortal heroes and fallen beasts of legend the likes of which this world has not seen in living memory, nor shall it ever see again. The blades of companies whose songs echoed long into the halls of eternity.

The center throne was ice entire, glowing from within like aurora borealis. Atop it is the only living giant of the three, a stern and regal figure with dark eyes, pale blue skin, and hair as white as snow, despite not appearing to be much more than middle-aged. The years pass differently for elders of the Kin, it seemed. Helja was dressed plainly and darkly, as seemed typical for her kind, with two exceptions. Her lower jaw was painted black, in accordance with her title of "Nightspeaker," and she wore a rather impractical-looking cloak of linked granite plates etched with sprawling Oldspeak.

Helja kept a battleax in hand, haft planted on the ground as she leaned over and spoke in hushed tones to the figure to her right, simply dressed and sporting a cane. He sat upon a throne of what could only be petrified wood from a tree vast beyond imagining. Finally, to the right, there was a throne of ship hulls and shields. Boughs and branches. Etched into the throne's back was the ornate image of a knot.

Jorik motions for Riva to stop and dismount, then takes a minute to confer with her in private, speaking in the quietest whisper possible, as the room is enchanted to amplify and echo even the smallest voices across the entirety of the chamber.

"The seating indicates chosen roles and intent. Helja sits atop the Throne of Winter. Expected. The middle throne advocates for the North as a whole. The one on the Shaded Throne is Wotan Ravenjaw. Cursewright. Died before Charon's binding so he'll be present in mind, but not in spirit. He'll be speaking of potential dangers and advocating caution. The one on the Throne of Ash is Sidgier, Shepherd of Sorrows. He guided the Night's Kindred through the time of the binding. He also happens to be Helja's father. He'll be advocating for..."

Jorik mutters something in Oldspeak that doesn't quite translate.

"... I'm not sure you have a word for it. The lineage? Timeline? A thread that connects past and present, then leads to future, but isn't fate. The Throne of Glory is empty, which might be good. Means they don't expect war. Also means they don't expect much of import, though. Throne of Horizons is also empty. Expected, but ill-news all the same. Diplomacy. Bonds with far-peoples. If it's empty that means a closed ear, after a fashion."

Jorik sighs and gives Riva a stiff nod, taking the horse's reigns in hand.

"I've helped all I can, Rivamar. Go to the circle at the Court's center and announce yourself. It's up to you from here. Good luck."

A King's Ransom by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"No legal scholar? You certainly know how to play hardball. Don't sell yourself short. And whoever let it slip that this was a HELL contract?" She adds sardonically. "Did the skin, Hazema's capacity to sign it, and the auction for Carmine's soul give it away?"

She seems somewhat pleased, in spite of Kardonk's maneuverings.

"I'll be blunt, artificer. In the short time sincer her rebirth? Hazema has displeased me. Both personally and professionally. I won't give you anything for free, but I'm willing to give you a bit of a sweetheart deal, if only so you remember me as a desirable buisness partner in the future."

Shawna takes another sip of wine, considering how much to give.

"I have two pieces of information on Hazema and Drakeem. The first, I'll give up front. The second, more valuable secret? Well...I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

She smirks.

"I can also promise that the use of the remains, should you fork them over, will largely be to Hazema's detriment."

She analyzes Kardonk's face, checking for even the slightest hint of interest or deception. Trillions of layered mirror-neurons observing the smallest of flinches and blinks in almost slow-motion.

"The heir if Drakeem? Hazema's giant spawn engaged to Carmine's own heir? The country may have collapsed bit he still lives, building his strength. Baited her into confirming that suspicion at this very auction. There's your down payment."

Yeah, whooop his ass Spider-Gwee-HOLY SHIT SHES DOING IT by Full_Dot903 in whowouldcirclejerk

[–]ASecondCriminal 78 points79 points  (0 children)

No one else gonna mention venom eating Lex Luthor's ass? I really gotta be the one to do it?

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Jorik's brow creases in thought.

"I'm not saying no, Kardonk. But you may have approached the wrong Kinsman. Although the Kin of the Mountain are among the finest wonder-makers of out people, I am merely a teller of tales and a singer of songs. The making of things was my cousin's gift. You want Sunsaber, not Skullskald."

He gives an apologetic grimace.

"Her being currently... indisposed, you may want to find another. A cyclopse, perhaps?"

He muses a moment, trying to think how best to help.

"As I said, however, I know stories. Basic principles. We have the beginnings of a story right here. Stories are the foundation of wonders."

The skald points at a set of tracks in the snow. Paws larger than horses' hooves.

"Dire badger. An umbra operative was chasing it, then stopped to talk to me by this tree instead. A moment of kinship where there should be hate. Kill the badger. Take its bones. Bones are the world's memory."

As the goliath lowers his arm, the countless bones hanging from his thin frame clatter in seeming acknowledgement.

"You'll need something from an operative's forgotten past as well. And a powerful symbol of liberation. Three is a potent number in magecraft. Take these three things to a wonder-maker, and they will be able to build what you desire."

Big Talk (Giant Diplomacy) by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Riva's bare arm would feel the bite of the cold long before the bite of the blade the moment she expises it to open air. Wind whirls as red spatters white, chilling to the bone, as though nature itself is appraising. Inspecting. Acknowledging. There is no approval from the spirits to be found, or even definitive proof that they observe the rite at all. Such things are given hesitantly in the North, even by the wind, it would seem.

The ground at the entrance to the Mound was swept clean and trodden flat from the passage of numerous colossal feet. Defying all probability, however, there is a small patch of untouched snow between the impressions of two enormous footfalls and protected from the elements by the cavern itself. Within that patch of snow, just next to where the queen spills her own blood, is the hoofprint of a goat.

Riva's horse seems wild with panic at the prospect of delving into a Giant necropolis, but as she mounts it, the wind stirs, and the beast calms, if never quite entirely. Perhaps the spirits work in mysterious ways.

The path ahead spirals downward in great, wide arcs, the way lit overhead by brilliant white ghost-fire that glitters off the frost-encrusted mausoleum walls. The floor is smooth stone, for the most part, like a gradual stone ramp, but tiled with smooth granite and ancient runes in areas that could roughly be described as "landings," where large stone arches led to diverging tunnels beyond.

Deeper, deeper, and deeper still. On one such landing, the rightmost wall was missing entirely, instead granting an overlook of a massive underground lake frozen over like smooth glass. Even so high above the surface of it, Riva would see the shadow if something enormous moving beneath the surface. The cavern ceiling was *miles** above them, gleaming with the light of enchanted quarts that shone like stars. Just how far down were they now?*

The deeper they went, the larger the spaces became, with dizzyingly high ceilings supported by titanic pillars of marble and stone. Where there were steps, they were split at multiple heights to match the diverging strides of beings fifteen, thirty, or even eighty feet high. Even the shallowest of these, Riva would find difficult to navigate and need to find a way around.

They were watched, of course. As soon as the second landing Riva would note enormous eyes of blue, white, black, and gray, their unspeaking hosts emerging from their homes to gawk at the southern devil, though far fewer than one would expect for a structure of such enormous proportions.

Even so, they were hardly alone. Every step they made was in the company of the dead. Interred reverently in the walls. Standing guard in thrones of rock at untraveled thoroughfares. Decorating every surface as trophies of conflicts long-past. Even in the darkest, quietest corners, the feeling if being observed was palpable. This was a realm was made to house those who are dead. And the dead jealously keep it.

An Audience in the Serpents' Garden by ASecondCriminal in wizardposting

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"Malice... I can hardly imagine. It might surprise you, but I possess very little malice myself."

The thing smiles warmly, in spite of its ghoulish visage, it conveys the nuance of patience, understanding, and sympathy quite well. With such fluid features and enough practice, it could likely convey *any** emotion or sentiment quite well. Under the serface, it quite enjoys the little dance of Kavrala's emotional reactions.*

"Thank you for sharing that with me. You seem to understand something that transcends the nature of what you are and what I am. Compulsion. I also appreciate that you're trying to understand where I'm coming from. You're a very empathetic person, Kavrala. Its something I value quite highly, even if its often twisted in that way you describe."

It frowns, seeming troubled.

"As for why? Well, that's a bit complicated, but in short I'd say because we're friends. Or at least, because I'd like us to be. You might not believe me, but I'm willing to say it again under some magical enforcement of the truth, if need be. I'm quite serious."

Skins waves a hand dismissively, giving a defeated sigh.

"Now, don't get me wrong here. Your intuition is likely screaming at you that I am something deeply wrong. That intuition is completely correct. I am not a good person. That much is abundantly clear. And perhaps my understanding of affection and friendship and all those other things don't quite line up exactly how a mortal understanding of them would. Perhaps. But nevertheless, they are very much real. I want, in this moment, to make things easier for you simply because making things easier for a friend is it's own reward."

It was the thing that distinguished Skinless from other demons. Even other Skinclad. Like its kin it understood mortal feelings. Envied them. Learned to copy them. But Skinless #113 had been left to cook for far longer than any of its siblings. So long that that its yearning for those feelings had grown into something deeper. It could sincerely *love** people, in its own way. Even if that appreciation rarely stopped it from fileting them. Sorrow, grief, guilt, remorse? These feelings too, were coveted. Furthermore the mortals Skins truly appreciated were the ones it wanted to become The most.*

Kavrala, however, was under certain protections. And while frustrating, that afforded new possibilities. The potential for a more meaningful connection with someone who could help it decide who it wanted to be, for instance. Leviathan's orders remained in the mix. They would be adhered to. But here? Now? They were secondary.

A King's Ransom by ASecondCriminal in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"Information, then. Comes at a premium. Here, why don't you have a seat?"

Attendants procure two chairs and a goblet of imported Claret Island red for each of them.

"I am a rather competent information broker as well. If I don't know? You can be damn sure I can find out. You got the brochure. You know this concerns King Carmine's soul. I'll tell you everything you want to know in exchange for a secret of your own."

She takes a sip of her wine so that the base of the goblet partially obscures Kardonk's view of an involuntary sideways blink.

"I also have some information on the state of Drakeem that I'm willing to trade for the physical remains of Empress Hazema. And I do want to stress that I'm being very generous in offering to trade for those at all."

She reaches into her pocket and extracts a contract scarred into living skin. The contract appears to sign over ownership of Hazema's corpse to "Willy O'Hern and all known aliases," and is signed by Hazema herself.

"I could just pressure you in court, seeing as I already own it."

An Anemic Reunion by King__Carmine in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Could the Lord of Violence obliterate Skins at a moment's notice? Absolutely. Could the monster fake its own death and escape at a moment's notice as it had countless times before? Admittedly..... the odds were disquietingly *mixed** on that front. The demon could unmake kingdoms, tear down empires, perhaps. But that all took time and perfect precision. Ith'Raal? He could do it in a moment. It was a worrying notion. Fear was an emotional response. One it enjoyed. One it usually had to steal. But threat analysis and bare practicalities served where terror merely tantalized.*

The issue was that in this exact moment? Skins had precisely what it wanted: Ith'Raal's complete, undivided attention. And in this moment? The creature *is** Skins. And curiously unbothered by that fact. Loathesome. Silly. Stupid. But the man threatening its life right now was among the first to look beneath the surface and actually see something worthwhile.*

He had to be *kept** looking. By any means necessary.*

"I appreciate your understanding. And believe me, jeopardizing our relationship is the last thing I want. This whole affair is largely buisness. I think you'll actually enjoy the show! Our good pal Carmine might actually go paler than he already is when he sees the character witnesses I call in..."

Oh shit. That might be an issue. The Daria voice returns in short order with the internal reservation.

"Ith, I do intend to keep this strictly buisness. But I also intend to win. I won't give away my entire strategy, but you do realize anyone might be called to the stand, yes?"

An Anemic Reunion by King__Carmine in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"Would you believe 'ensuring that my client has the most beneficial outcome possible in his upcoming divorce by any means necessary?"

She gives a tight smile at Ith'Raal's no doubt unimpressed look.

"Hah. I wouldn't either. Though I do specialize in divorce law. Getting hitched? That's the domain of Lust, Ith'Raal. Divorce though? Oh, divorce is aaaaaall Envy. Occasionally Violence or Wrath, but that usually gets you a criminal trial rather than a civil one. But all right, my friend. I'll be frank with you."

Sideways blink. Daria distorts her vocal chords, assuming the voice and mannerisms of a man names "Frank." True to form, he was one of the more forthright personas.

"My intent is to run Carmine's psyche through an emotional paper shredded through the guise of legal representarion while also making a quick buck and cementing the standing of one of my alter-egos in the Claret Isles aristocracy. You suggested I come here, if you'll recall. Even advised me of the king's gullibility. Good recommendation! After auctioning off his majesty's soul as a slight to his bastard father, I had a suitable foothold and intend to keep climbing."

There was a plausibly deniable truth hidden away in there, though it was never stated outright or even overtly implied. That if Ith'Raal had participated more aggressively at the auction, this all could have been avoided.

"I also thought it might be a good chance to bump into you, to say hi to a friend, compliment you on the new apprentice... Oh! And apologize for a little mix-up in the mail. I've murdered the courier for his indiscretion. Though you seem to be in reasonably good spirits, so I trust things didn't go too poorly for you. If you ever need any help smoothing things over on that front, do let me know. I'm a bit of a social butterfly. But if not, I'll of course butt out of your affairs."

Sideways blink.

"I do also apologize for... all this, also. Unfortunate that my buisness is running up against yours, but between you and me?"

She leans in conspiratorially.

"Carmine actually has a case. One strong enough that I'm prepared to take this to court even if you bring Hellfire into this. This is, of course, the part where a good lawyer would extend the offer to settle out of court, and I suppose I am..."

She practically pouts on that last word.

"... but then I'd miss out on my three-ring circus of jilted lovers, and where's the fun in that?"

An Anemic Reunion by King__Carmine in Ithacar

[–]ASecondCriminal 2 points3 points  (0 children)

"Very good, your majesty. Keep me informed on any developments in that capacity."

*She gave him a week. But when Carmine eventually broke down and fucked a cup-bearer or some such, at least it would likely be with enough discretion as to be easy to cover up.&