Thu Dec 22, 2005 3:50 am
"I want him dead!" Came the voice, fist thudding into the table, knocking papers and quills in their box to scatter across the map spread out before him. One hand was gripping the left side of his head, near the eye covering it as the cobalt blue scanned the map. Direction, necessity. Logistics. Movement. Terrain. There'd be nowhere to run. Hammer, or Pincer? Surround and Siege?
"And you all are going to help me kill him." A quiet chuckle, low-voiced, as a bandaged hand rapped fingers on the table.
"No." There's a deeper voice answering, and a shift of cobalt blue armor along a left arm. A split-brow rises, and it's a flat answer. Two other heads turn, along with the man seated central at the table.
"No?" Is the reply.
"No. We will not."
"Are you against me then, too?"
"Not at all, M'lord. We still serve you. But not in this."
"Is this unanimous?"
"S'lltha'ri, Starr. No good will come of this." An elven voice enters the conversation, lyrical, yet, low too.
"No good has already come of this. She's dead." The man at the head of the table replies.
"You think *we* do not know?" There's a fourth voice, human, quieter, but
solemn.
"Then help me."
"No." The large man replies again, "You think you are the only one hurting? She was our comrade, too. More so for Carrow. You think we do not wish revenge either?"
The man with the cobalt eyes sneers quietly, gripping the edge of the table. His anger was palpable, and the scent of ozone filled the air. But he makes not reply, merely stares at the other three men.
"Killing him solves nothing, 'ro. So, s'lltha'ri. You know that." The elf says.
"But.. it will make me feel better."
"Will it? Did you feel better after avenging Loryll's 'death'? After killing all of them?"
There's a stunned silence, as cobalt eyes are drawn then towards the larger man.
"What did you say?"
"Did you feel better, after killing those you thought killed Loryll? How long did you feel better afterwards, is what he said. I was there with you, after it. All you did was sit, and drink, and curse. You did not feel better, and you know it. It will accomplish nothing. Do nothing." This time, it was the elf speaking, and harshly.
"Tche."
"You are being selfish. Do you think I do not want to kill him myself? You are not the only one of us hurting, not the only one who feels a part missing. So, you can clear any thought of revenge out of that thick skull of yours. Just because you lost something, doesn't give you the right. Doesn't make it right. We all want a peice of him, sure. But we're not going to. We had a long talk about this on the way to pick her up. And we've decided what we're going to do." The man in browns, with bow at his side speaks, and his tone is not pleasant.
There is no response to this save for eyes turning, and the sneer remaining. It is silence, before, "Well?"
"Absolutely nothing. You are only thinking of yourself. Think of her. Would you mar her memory, her feelings, her thoughts, her ways, by doing something that she wouldn't have wanted you to do? She would not want us to do that. She would want us to celebrate her life, mourn her, not avenge her. If you loved her, and respected her, you would forget this idea of revenge." The man in brown explains.
"Is this how it is then? You will do nothing, you will le--" But, his words are cut off by a large fist slamming into his jaw and knocking him from his seat. The large man with left arm covered in cobalt arm, has risen, and moved.
"We do something, Starr. We mourn her as she should be. Your anger is clouding your judgement. What happens when a lancers falls? What is our tradition? Answer me."
His head swims, and he's spitting blood to one side, before lifting hand to grab edge of his seat and pulls himself up onto it, before it creaks quietly. What happens when a lancers falls?
"We buy casks of rum, and sit around, drinking, and spilling it. And celebrate their deeds." Is the answer, quiet, forlorn.
"And she was one of us, was she not? I will not disrespect her memory with this talk of revenge. She would have not wanted it. Neither do we. It is only you who wish this, of us four." Kohler says, flatly.
"So, this is how it is to be then. Mm."
"Yes, it is. So do we have to continue arguing, or just beat some sense into you, before you see it too?"
"Tcha, fine. I will do nothing. But only for her memory. Not because revenge does nothing, not because it will not make me feel better. I will do nothing, because it would have been her wish. You are right, she would have hit me with a broom, if I'd spoken it outloud. If I'd act this way." He says, with a sigh.
"At least you're thinking now." The elf chimes in. "That's all we wanted you to do."
"Quill and paper, then. I have missives to write."
The trio nods to him, thudding hand to chest, before they all rise, and then turn. Carrow puts a hand to Starr's shoulder, gives it a squeeze before turning. A quietly mouthed, "For her." -- but then, they exit. Leaving him in the great-hall alone.
The quills are gathered, one by one, sat near him. Parchment is brought by Filgren, laid out before he too retires away. There was nothing Filgren could say to assuage his lord. But, the merc's hand lifts, and he begins scratching out letters. Various ones, at that. They'd given good case, and -- even though the pain is fresh, the anger still raw -- sometimes the best council is one's closest friends.