Midnight RPG - Chapter 28.41

The following takes place after Zal'Kazir and Eranon meet in town but before they are called away by the activity on the Spear of Grief. I can't remember exactly where the conversation left off, so forgive me if I pick up in a strange or unnatural place. I was planning to pick up right after Zal mentioned Eranon looked troubled.

Eranon

Eranon looks up at Zal'Kazir, a mixture of pain, rage, and fatigue evident. The previous fire in his eyes has diminished somewhat.

Eranon: "Yes, my friend, I am tormented by this place, seeing this has stabbed to the very heart of me. Seeing these criminals laugh and sing in their city bought and payed for by the blood of those they rob. They could do so much against the shadow, yet they wall themselves in while Aryth dies."

Narration

As Eranon speaks these words, words new to the elf's lips, words of intolerance and guarded mistrust, the small black-speckled terrier yaps at his feet; growling on occasion to show it's mettle in this new age of hate. It is here in this place where men feign happiness that the seepage stirs from his soul.

Along the docks of Bilgewater, as Eranon walks with Zal'Kazzir, they watch... Captain Aesir Norfall courts away in a foppish manner, turning his head to the young boys on the pier - with their sweat-stained summer silks clinging to their wide shoulders and broad chests. In the distance (some 100 yards) from the docks the sounds of brazen carousing can be heard, regardless of the mid-day hour. The whores are unashamed, as wives are cast aside for the plunder of their northmen husbands. The drink is unlike elven spirits or Sarcosan wines, here... in this place the liquor coats the gullet like acid, burning it's way to it's victim's gut. Desperartely they gorge themselves on poison; sopping up the grained alcohols with worm-eaten breads and meat red off the bone.
These men resemble their bretheren to the North - yet these Dorn have grown content being the bullies in their small world, taking what they want - but cowering against the cold embrace of darkness.
You notice that not only their lighthouse (the Bloody Light) burns day and night - so too do the torches along the L boardwalks... What are these people afraid of? It has been 99... no... 100 years since the Shadow fell, for which they've learned to ignore the calls of their forefathers, the calls of man, elf, dwarf, kith & kin of halfling and gnome...

It is the year of Eredane's 1st century, year 100. And the summer spoils on having just begun only six short days ago - yet in this place, in this time the summer seems to have captured all hate and brought it to the feet of this would-be elven hero.
Things not known on the wind conspire in this time, things of deceit and treachery and the arrow sting of love long turned foul... There will be a reckoning across Eredane this season - the disease of hate spreads where it once was not welcome. With each bitter word the elf speaks, the clatter of hooves driven by another bitter elf ride out to seek mass extermination, carnage, decimation, cleansing, massacre, mass murder, race extermination, annihilation - seeking genocide of the fey.
Were the will to save the world ever at these pathwalker's grasp, it has long since fumbled into the darkness... And the Great Lady feels fear for the first time since being scarred...

Zal'Kazzir

Zal'kazzir looks back at Eranon, his features softening, black eyes widening into deep wells of compassion. The half-smile fades from his lips, and then quickly re-forms as he begins to speak.

Zal'Kazzir: "I'm sorry to see this place affect you so, my friend. It must be shocking to you, to see such decadence, even as your people struggle and suffer."

"I must admit, it is even somewhat shocking to me; not the wine, women and song, of course, this place is tame, if exceedingly dirty and crude, when compared to many places in the southlands, but in light of what the Dornishmen once were."

"My people and theirs are ancient rivals, and while we Sarcosans have no great love for the northmen, we have always respected their strength and honor. Once, the Dornish nobles preferred death to disonor, and abided by a warrior code both terrifying and impressive to we of the south. Of course, our wits trumped their strength tie and again, but a noble enemy is still worthy of respect, and when the Dornish lords finally surrendered in Fallport, and kingdom of Erenland was eventually formed, many of our peoples merged and became a greater whole."

"These... *brigands* however, are a far cry from the noble Dornish princes whom we once battled across the Pelluria. The spark is still there, but it is almost as though they have forgotten who they are..."

Turning away from Eranon, and looking toward a nearby tavern, Zal'Kazzir continues, the scholarly tone he had adopted, fading to a softer, more philosophical one."

"Do you know why these men revel, Eranon?"

Zal'Kazzir waits, still facing the dimly lit tavern, waiting to hear his friend's reply."

Eranon

Eranon: "I have only a guess, my friend. It seems to me that they have given up, they wait for the end hidden on this island, and while death approaches them all. . . they dance."

Eranon balls up his fist, looking around, then letting his eyes rest on Zal'Kazzir, waiting to be convinced.

Narration

They dance...
Words spoken by the woodsman could never be so true. Yet their dances are unlike that of the fey. These are hedonistic thralls of shear uncaring. Throwing their viking-like bodies across the taverns and houses of ill-repute. They stink, they drink and they dance... they dance...

ROLL: Zal'Kazzir (Knowledge: Nobility +8) ROLLED: 16+8 = 24
With this roll - From his background studies of Nobility, his history knowledge and heresay that he's heard while in the shops of Bildgewater (speaking with the woman at the Tithe Shop) Zal'Kazzir has access to some various informations regarding the Dorn, the Corbron Isles, the Pirate Princes, etc... click HERE and HERE for your EYES ONLY Zal'Kazzir.

Zal'Kazzir

Calmly, and with a little sadness, Zal'Kazzir answers, still facing the Tavern

Zal'Kazzir: "That is the answer I thought you'd give, and it is not incorrect, though it is also not accurate."

Turning back slowly, clearly upset, but still with a half-smile, Zal'Kazzir continues.

"It is true that cowardice is a large player here... fear of death, fear of the unknown... they weigh heavily on these men. But fear alone cannot engender this type of behavior. Only two things can drive men to bury themselves in isolation and debauchery; hopelessness and self-hatred."

"Deep down in their syphilitic souls, these men know what they are, and they hate themselves for what they have become. They know that their forefathers were far, far better men then they, and their fool's honor cannot abide that shame. Worse yet, they also believe that they cannot change their lot, and thus have abandoned all to hopeless despair... They are too hopeless to live and too proud to die."

"But even for all of these faults, there is still great passion and strength in these people. The mere fact that they can survive and even thrive as they do here is a testament to that. We can disdain and despise these men to our heart's content and it will bring us nothing but more hate and more suffering. I can see that the spark of Norfall honor is not dead... quite... despite the best efforts of it's young one-eyed scion. But in the other, Disa, there is still the fire of the old Dorns, and I would hope that Jaedyn, if we ever chance to meet him, shares that same spark; if not, then perhaps a change in leadership is in order, but I digress....

Turning more directly to Eranon, Zal'kazzir straightens up, crisp new robes of inky black silk, chased with green and blue gems, sparkling and suddenly impressive in the pale sunlight. Gone is the melancholy, gone is the hunched, secretive posture; suddenly you are aware of Zal'Kazzir as he -CAN- be, rather than as he often is. Here is truly a prince of the southlands, a leader of men.

"Eranon, I want to save these people. I want to see their life change, and I want them to help themselves by helping all of Eredane against the shadow. It is time for these men to stand tall once more, and it is time for the sails of Norfall to inspire fear in her enemies and honor and glory in her friends! Will you help me Eranon? I believe that you and I, with some help from a little Sarcosan wit, can help these people to see, and actually do something good for a change. What say you, Eranon?"

Eranon

Eranon laughs a rather unsteady, forced laugh, rather hollow, but not necessarily disingenuous

Eranon: "I have not the same gift for words as you, for it was not fear, but of hopelessness that I guessed. As for self-hatred, I cannot say. Maybe it is deserved, but Eranon shakes his head a little, trying to losen up, his face softening a little it is not for me to say."

"I hear you, and I thank you for bringing to my attention and idea I had not considered. if these men can be moved to help the world, my poor restless heart might be still. Do you think it can be done? They are a willful bunch. If they could be turned, they could do so much more than their murder and reverie."

Eranon thinks for a moment, then looks to his friend

"Forgive me for my harsh words on the boat. While these men to earn my ire, my threats of violence were wrong. I do despise what these men have become, but I wish them no real harm. Harm will come to them reguardless of what we do, as it will come to us all. I do not know if it is the dark creatures, the orcs, the wraiths, my time with the eye, or what, but I feel so tired, so stretched. These dark thoughts have taken me, perhaps that strand of trees to the north will do me some good."