Midnight RPG - Chapter 14.75
Contents
Kevin
- [This scene takes place some time after Zal'Kazzir frees the imp, in the time FOLLOWING his introduction "speach" to the group. In the time when you're looking around Vrolk's Laboratory and into the evening when you rest, the little Imp (who has said he is now "bound" to Zal'Kazzir) comes up to you to chat... Think of it as "networking" or "small talk"... hehe...]
DURGAZ's PRIVATE talk with Nazif, Zal'Kazzir's courtesan imp
"Hello my friend. T'would I be impolite were I to call you by your given name? Durgaz, is it that your fellow pathwalkers call you? May I speak to you in such a familiar tone?", the small green-gray skinned imp quaries as its eyelids slowly flicker as if the very light beyond its former cage, burns its bulbous eyes... Looking to you in hopes of acceptance...
"I can only hope that you would speak to me in kind. I am Nazif by name, those I call friend know me as the butter-cream churner. I am most happy to make your aquaintence. Is it true that you have the glory of calling yourself "mirror-breaker"?? I would be in debt to you good sir, if you were to tell the tale of this most wounderous of deads.", Nazif, sits his bottom to the wooden floors that grow unnaturally out of the obsidian gemstone of the Spire. He sits without bending his body, focusing his eyes looking into your's directly. He seems ever-so inquisitive and even aids you when he notices you picking up anything or moving anything.
Andrew/Durgaz
[Durgaz pauses in whatever he is doing and looks down at the imp. He then looks up again, scanning the room for Zal'Kazzir. Noting that the Sarcosan appears to be nowhere in sight, he lowers his gaze back down to the imp.]
"I do not call myself mirror-breaker. I do not think anyone here has called me that, either. I will assume that you heard the term from your master, the Sarcosan. You should continue to call me Durgaz.
"There is not much tale to tell. We were in the marsh, several days' travel from this place, when we got word that enemies were approaching our position. Kyuad, the Erenlander, had found something he believed to be a zordrafin corith. [Durgaz studies the imp carefully for signs of recognition.] "We waited until the enemy was nearly upon us, then pushed a rotten tree over onto the corith. It exploded, and it took out a good portion of the woods with it. We escaped."
"Your master was there. I am sure he could make a much more exciting story from those events than I can. Maybe you should go and ask him."
[If the imp attempts to help Durgaz move or pick anything up, Durgaz will try to jerk whatever it is out of the imp's reach ... not in an overtly rude or hostile way, but more in a "don't worry, I've got it" kind of way. He will not say anything, though.]
kevin / (newly named) Balal
The little imp seems to have found a chance away from his new master who freed him from the prison. It seems he is vastly interested in what Durgaz is doing. Much like a child he tried to help (even though you don't want it) but when he sees this he does not PUSH. He simply helps, by organizing or cleaning up behind you. Or preparring things before you get to the item...
At your mention of the zordrafin corith, the little beast's eyes do widen. He can see you speak with irreverence and a greater disdain and knowledge than your orcen kin. Your mind flows not full of blood-rage, he can see... He seems keenly interested in having and hearing your deeper thoughts. So he begins...
Oh no, ma-lord... I have not heard of your honorary name from your Sarcosan friend, if you currently call him that(?)... It is spoken of from the mouth of elf-tongue that I heard your name. The 'orc that sees'... It was the Vile that spoke of the mirror-breaker. Nay. Forgive, ma-lord... it was not the necromancer elf. It was his man. Funny though, now that you make me reconsider it WAS 'the' Sarcosan... Just not 'your' Sarcosan. It was the rough-rider called Azam'han and the denizens of this hall. They spoke of the instance of derailment that happened with the incoming army led drugged into this the Black Nail of the swamp. Nearly three dozen 'tusks' were lost on that day in the cosmic blast that could also be called essence of the Hate-Bringer. It was that day that the Vile was in full jest, as he knew your defiance would bring the eye of the dark lord onto your troupe. And it was this deed that the Vile took love and obsession with your hide, for he knew it would be the hammer to his nail for rising in the eyes of both the Priest King and thier shared servitor in the North (Izrador).
Andrew/Durgaz
[Durgaz snorts in disgust.] "If he sees me as 'the hammer to his nail', he is more correct than he knows. As a sorcerer, unaccustomed to physical labor, perhabs he can be forgiven for not knowing that a hammer does not help a nail to RISE. It strikes it over and over again, until the nail lies broken, crushed and buried. THAT is all I offer to the Vile."
kevin /Balal
So then Lord Durgaz, if you will not regail the tale of teetering the balance of power, even though it may have only been for but a flickering moment - I shall find this story elsewhere. My only wish was to pay service with my bardic tongue to your perilous portrayal. Perhaps a song in your honor? I know the tongue of both Black Speak and Orc. Or should your turned ear be more pleased I can splay it in a tune of elven make... 'twould I be wrong to think your tastes tilt toward the elf-kind? Donot feel betrayed by my admonishment and insight. Perhaps you have not even given it thought, but I can see your care for Eranon of elf-make. Friend for sure you are to the archer, but would not your flesh crave comfort of the love of an elven princess? Would not your eye and heart dip to the humble heart and warm bossom of an elven queen or three in your bed?...
This I could make so in promise, dear friend. I have my lips to the ear of ladies of the forest that would give great thanks to one such as you... a mirror-breaker! Were you to bat your eye in acceptance within a month I would ensure you lay beside such beauty... Donot think this a tempt or tease. This is a fair trade that I offer you... Let me be sure to note that your 'payment' to me would be less than what you might think. I ask only to stand in your shadow. I fear that my new master walks the wall between dark and light. If he were to fall, or more openly if he were to draw the unwanted gaze of demons, devils, seraphs or angels - whether they be on this or that side of the Scar-Digger in the North, I wish only to ask your protection when in the more perilous situation.
But perhaps I overstep my bounds? I do not wish to assume you would trade in flesh. Perhaps it is the heart of a woman you seek. Holding the soul as she holds yours. I would not pretend that I can bring you your true mate, but I can offer aid in the ways of hunting for such. And if it is not the caress of soul-mates or the flavor of flesh that I might offer, you must but ask for things that I could give. With the caviat in mind that while you are powerful in might, I offer you a more powerful insight. When you walk with an Outsider in terms of appreciation, you walk with a mind to improving your station when might would not make right... So let me finally put this to you Lord Durgaz... What do you seek? What do you dream? How may I serve you in friendship, so that you may serve me in friendship?
Andrew/Durgaz
[Durgaz's voice drops to that low, calm tone that his companions would recognize as the one that usually precedes a threat.] "Listen carefully to me, creature. I may travel with elves, fight alongside the elves, break bread with elves ... but I am not an elf. I am an orc. And no elfish princess would willingly lie with or love an orc, no matter what he has broken. I do not understand what you are offering, but I don't like it. It smacks of the sort of mind-slavery your new master engages in, and of the false promises whispered into the ears of the false Sussars of Sarcosa. I want none of it. If you wish to walk beside me, do so. I require nothing of you in return.
"You speak of stories, songs in my honor? If you truly wish to touch the hearts of these elven ladies you speak of, perhaps you should sing them the story of the time that I and five of my men captured two elfish scouts, a husband and wife, seven miles outside of Zorgetch. Sing of how we kept them with us, sending one at a time into each town we passed, instructing them to enter the town and beg for shelter, then come back and tell us who had obliged, or we would kill the other. Sing of how we would then descend upon the town, drag those whom the elves had named from their homes, and lash them to death in the town square. Sing of how we did this for four months, until one day while the male had been sent scouting, Naarghash, who was charged with watching the woman, instead raped and killed her; and the male, upon his return, went mad with grief and rage and had to be killed in turn. Will this tale flutter the heart of a princess more than the story of the corith-breaking, do you think?"
"OR, perhaps you could put your tale-spinning and song-writing skills to work on the memory of a true hero. His name was Valendil, and he died today, after being captured, held and tortured into unlife by your previous master. He led a band of brave elves with a hand that was wise and true, and he did many great things, among them extending a hand to me when I was still attempting to struggle free of the darkness, and he died in a manner horribly unbefitting to one of his stature. If you wish to honor the memory of one who deserves it, begin with Valendil."
