#(there is no one more cantankerous than Hulrun Shappok)

[spyridonya]

Ok, how about 10. cantankerous for the one word writing prompts 👀

Because Kadira would wave a sword in an emergcy, Hulrun does not die but is no longer Prelate. If Hulrun is so deeply respected because of his ability to fight demons, he'd be more well suited returning to military service.

The appearance of General Hulrun made Kadira's insides curl into black ice as she fixed her gaze upon her unwelcome visitor as he entered the War Room. Only the gods knew what she looked like right now, she had been going over files and directives with the Paralictor for several hours now. Knowing herself, the stress made her look like the bedraggled little girl running around with a shimmering sword trapped within her that likely saved someone's life upon her second introduction to Hulrun.

Relax your forehead, let it soften, ease the shoulders - he smells fear. She reminded herself, lectured herself, and told herself that she’s fought worse. 

However, as she looked at the scowl embedded in the features, the scars deepening the furrows and rags, most creatures she fought did not answer to Queen Galfrey with the adoration and fervor of a paladin to their god.

Hulrun, to his credit, waited until Kadira lifted her head from her work entire before he strode across from the entrance to her side, standing adjacent to her and towering in his superiority he wore like armor. "I have reason to believe that despite the graces that you hold with her Majesty and the Inheritor, that you are aiding and abiding a trailer in your midst."

Dear Gods and Shelyn's patience, her relays to the front were going to be derailed with this nonsense? The irritation bubbled under her skin as she lifted her chin higher, still reminding herself to relax with her posture. She had known the very moment that the former Prelate had arrived with Galfrey that something would come up.

"Prelate-" Perhaps pacifying him would-

"General," The correction is sharp, not quite a bark, and the furrow of heavy silvering brows deepens the crease of his bold battle scars. 

You fought a man made entirely of locusts. Kadira reminded herself as she fixed her gaze on the old man and allowed silence to slip between them before she began, again. "Forgive me for asking, but yet another traitor? If I recall, Nurah Dendiwhar was vouched for by the Inquisition, which was surely a mistake. I can understand during the chaos of Kenabras' siege that others might have also slipped past the organizations usually impeccable standards."

The words are not hers, and yet they are. The sharp edge that underlays the civility of her words to make them impatient, cutting, perhaps even cruel. The hypocrisy of it all had struck her on the nose, despite it always being there, and the man going back to his witch-hunting ways the moment he stepped into her city despite the honors granted to him was unpardonable.

Hulrun stares at her like the scruffy tiefling that she was, and not the beloved of angels, almost attempting to remind of her true place. But his temper is too quick and his demeanor too curmudgeon for it to simmer properly and implant doubt in Kadira's mind when he speaks, "You would very well know, you were the one to abide he and his cultists’ escape into the ruins of Kenabras."

Oh, Callrista's Balls.

"The worship of Desna has been documented well before the Age of Darkness and her church has existed in various forums for all but perpetuity." An irony, considering the goddess and her fleeting nature, "They are by no means a cult and within my investigation of the Wardstones, by personally speaking to the angels that agreed to be bound there, Ramien and his keep did nothing to corrupt the wardstone."

"Dear girl-" He began.

"Knight Commander."

"Knight Commander, you were not there when the Red Morning Massacre happened-"

No. But my grandmother had to scramble with her family into horse stalls and their manure out of sheer abject horror, because she saw the results of what happens when demons don't kill. She's dust and spirit now, old man.

"-when Minagho spilled blood of innocent on the Wardstone-"

"Well, obviously the Wardstone wasn't much helpful if Minagho was able to breach into Kenabras." She cut in quickly, a part of her ashamed for correcting an elder, another part reminding herself she was an elder. "I don't see how the blood could have made things worse, she was already inside."

The older man blinked hard, those white whiskers quivering with indignation and mild shock. How often did he tell this story to the Inquisitors? Was this the first time someone pointed out the inconsistency of that story to him?

"He is still guilty of breaking and entering, Knight Commander." His tone is sharp as a knife, and Kadira felt pressure behind her temples. "As such-"

"And as such, he was made Prelate when you were made a General, seeing he is the highest ranking Priest that managed to live through the siege. If you have disagreements with his placement, Queen Galfrey is in Drezen, as you well know. I am not to give up a guest, regardless if Ramien was Prelate or not. Hospitality is an ancient rite, far older than Desna or Iomeade, and I will not break it because you disagree with your Queen."

There was a twitch in his eyebrow. "I see." He didn’t see, Kadira knew that he couldn’, but Kadira also knew he was loyal to Galfrey in all things. "I will... I will speak to her majesty and return to you when time permits."

The general turned on his heel, his boots clacked sharply on the floor of the headquarters, his gaze flashing black at Regill who watched silently the entire time, and strode out of the War Room with the red of his cloak trailing after him.

At the sound of the door shutting behind him, Kadira felt her body completely relax as a sigh left her, as if strings were cut on a puppet. Her forehead hit the table and her vision was veiled by her hair for a moment.

"May I inquire with you, Commander?" The heavier tones of Regill's voice was almost like a blessing as she turned her head against the table, her eyes falling upon the Paralictor who sat not quite at her current level.

"Yes," No, not really. But she was remarkably proud that Regill hadn't slide in like a knife into the brief conversation. He tended to do so in more informal occasions, but within the war room he waited before committing verbal vivisection of someone in Galfrey's court. 

(Both he and Daeran shared that lovely hobby, but never managed to bond over it.)

"Does Hulrun truly expect you to believe he witnessed an event that occurred when I was not quite middle aged?" The gnome retains his hawklike sharpness, the disdain set more by brows and tone than truly changing his expression. "An event Queen Galfrey was not yet quite a woman for?"

Kadira shrugged, though she supposed with her almost prone position of her cheek against the table made it hard to see. Rather, she lifted her hands and mimicked the gesture. "My grandmother was still a girl and hadn't met my grandfather. It was a threat she'd give me and my cousins if we didn't behave properly. ‘If you don’t stop climbing those walls, Kadira Staradottir, Minagho is going to splash your innards on the statute of Iomedae!’" She paused for a moment to think, “I believe the former Prelate is only a few years younger than me, chronologically speaking. I'm surprised you're not questioning his sanity."

"I'm questioning his efficiency in his methods of discipline,." Regill dryly answered, turning back to his paperwork.

Somehow, Kadira thinks, that's even worse.