Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Noth faced a great many annoyances. Since the beginning of his life, there had always been assorted persons and events which had gotten in the way of accomplishing his objectives. When he had wanted to go outside in order to play and run and enjoy himself in the blazing warmth of the sun, he had been met with the sudden drizzle of freezing rain, or perhaps with the notification that he had an assignment of some form or another that he would need to partake in in order to facilitate a greater understanding of scholastic events, and that such learning would likely consume the greater portion of his time for the day. When he had grown somewhat older, and found himself to be little more than a pariah living alone in the midst of a dark and lonesome cavern, he had faced tribulations. There had been a struggle to locate enough food to stave off the specter of death that often accompanied those who did not have enough to eat, and who lived in a state of constant squalor and poverty. There had been the wildlife which had hunted around his doorway, the late-growling of savage beasts which thought they had spied what could only be a succulent and easy meal for their predatory jowls.

Now that he was the leader of Al’Angyryl, the Prince of Eternal Mercies whose very reputation was beginning to spread like a wildfire to the local population of Etzos, he had expected that at least some of his difficulties would be resolved. Indeed, he no longer worried about acquiring enough food to ensure his own survival, because there were always others at headquarters who were capable of locating a meal in the midst of the bitter wilderness, and their numbers were great enough that only beasts stricken with a feverish madness would ever dare to approach the encampment lest they be slaughtered in a heartbeat, stripped of their weak flesh and hide, and turned into meals and trophies by the degenerate lowlifes who lived within the rocky expanse.

Yet, other annoyances had quickly taken the place of those that had already been dispelled by the company of others. There were those guardsman who were appointed to their position of security for the sake of ensuring that the entire group remained safe, and yet, these persons occasionally dozed off in the midst of their watchful breaks. Others among the group were ordered to commit acts and actions against or for the sake of assorted residents of the town, and yet, several times in the past some of his Talons had shown up to their duties under the influence of alcoholic beverages, or perhaps they were distracted by the brief visage of a beatific consort slinking around the alleys and smelling of the cheapest of perfumes.

And sometimes, he would hire a perfectly acceptable assassin whose reputation far preceded them due to having been encountered in the midst of a vision. He would offer coin and work to that assassin, and they would accept, going off to commit their gruesome task in order to allow his own goals to proceed with one less hindrance… only to be interrupted in their slaying by the presence of a healer. Noth had never found the many healers and physicians of the land to be quite as vain as some people tended to assume of them, and whilst it was at least somewhat true that a great many of them charged exorbitant prices for their fees, the fact that they could ensure that a person survived after having suffered from absolutely dreadful injuries seemed to be evidence enough of the worth of such procedures. The hybrid typically attempted to avoid striking out at healers for the simple logic that there was a fair chance that his own soldiers would inevitably find themselves upon the same operating tables as their enemies, and reducing the number of available healers would only mean alienating themselves from those capable of tending to their wounds.

Yet, one healer had gone out of their way in order to interrupt the poisoning of an arch-rival, and such notions could not be unpunished. How weak and pathetic it would look on the part of the twilight hybrid if he simply allowed the medic who had saved Gangui from his perilous fate to continue on in their life, completely ignoring the consequences of having made themselves an enemy of the Prince of Eternal Mercies. What was more, he had been informed that the intrepid twig had occupied her time around the Turkey leader for several trials in the past, and that it was fairly likely that she was a collaborator in his charge. An enemy who had committed an unforgiveable deed and drawn the ire of the avian murderer was not liable to survive for a great deal of time… he would ensure that.

The tavern itself was a familiar place, though the hybrid had never actually been present in the past. Drinking establishments such as these were legion, and the different aspects that made them popular had all been copied down from some past proprietorship. Seldom was a single one of the places any different from the others save for some minor detail: This one was more accepting of mercenaries and plied their work upon a notice board, this one served a drink that was only found in the local area, and which would have had to be imported anywhere else in the world, this one was known for being an information-brokerage, and was an excellent place to learn secrets. In the end, no matter whatever gimmick had stained the very nature of the business, it was simply another hole where men could rot away their lives in the pursuit of alcoholic highs, and where scandalous women could toil laboriously in their pursuit of the coins hidden away in the pockets of the drunk.

The Avriel made remarkably little noise as he gently opened the doorway of the establishment, his talons raking softly upon the floor as he stepped inside, feeling the tingling heat of the nearby hearth as it washed over his armored form. It was somewhat difficult to feel the fire in its entirety, though he could certainly feel the warmed air as it suckled into his lungs through the helmet he wore upon his head, the metallic carapace entirely unable to prevent the free travel of air. Crimson eyes scanned the premises until they had focused upon their target, and then paused as they recognized a familiar face at the table. Slowly… carefully, he began to approach the table, his form frightful though he made no motion to assail anyone or anything, nor did he seem to possess any necessarily violent intention other than simply approaching.

Yet, if one were to observe, they would take heed of the few men who sifted into the room, the bloody-handed markings of the army of Al’Angyryl plain and present upon their war-gear. They were quiet, as though they had been leashed by some unseen power, and carefully they began to instruct others to leave the establishment, more forcibly removing those who were too drunk to arise of their own volition, and, in at least one instance, striking a man who swung at them hard enough to send him into the throes of unconsciousness before brutally dragging him outside and tossing him into the dirt outside the doors.

“Greetings… you are the healer I’ve heard about?” He questioned as he finally drew within speaking distance, crimson eyes locking on the twig with a wicked inclination.

The twilight hybrid merely nodded his acceptance of the fact that the Tunawa was a healer, ignoring the almost certain slight against his own abominable physicality. It was possible, of course, that the small twig was being genuine in her desire to assist him, solely restricted from doing so by the fact that no medical procedures existed which would grant him the presence of a secondary wing, but… the hybrid doubted it for some obscure reason. It was far easier to believe that someone who was about to die at one’s own hands was scum, that they were reprehensible and rude and vicious in their many mannerisms, because it made them less qualified as people, and more akin to the beasts of the field which were so often hunted for their precious flesh.

The Avriel stepped closer to the table, satisfied that he had been correct in his search, and had managed to locate the healer who had managed to save the life of his nemesis. There was a brief shrieking noise which echoed throughout the entirety of the tavern as a chair was removed from its usual position, and dragged to the table by a set of feathered fingers which clamped down upon wood like vices. The hybrid sat moments later, a brief and seemingly mournful sigh being expelled from the armet that he wore.

A pair of Talons moved to seize Ellen’wyn, and to remove her from the confines of the tavern, but, at her resistance and the brief flicker of a wave from the gauntleted hand of the Avriel, they were dismissed from that particular duty. The hybrid absolutely detested the idea of harming his relationship with his fellow half-breed, though he supposed that she had offered little to him in terms of worth, and in the end, the loss of the relationship would not be detrimental whatsoever to his cause so long as she had not acquired any sensitive information whilst she had been allowed within the Underground.

“I’m here to tell a story, and to ask a question at the end.” He began, crimson eyes locking onto his fellow half-breed, determination clearly erected upon what features of his visage remained visible to the outside world.

He didn’t ask any sort of permission to begin, nor to interrupt whatever conversation they had been involved with before his arrival, because frankly he didn’t care enough about the societal niceties of such things to request it, and it was evident enough to any gathered that he held all of the power in this situation regardless thanks to the presence of his vicious soldiers.

“Once, there was a doctor. She was talented and skilled in the medicinal arts, and people came far and wide to visit her in order to retrieve cures for their many ailments. She was also quite skilled when it came to surgical procedures, and it was often the custom of many wounded persons to specifically seek her out so that they would be able to survive their wounds.” He began, a loose talon rapping softly against the floor as he elaborated on the backstory of his chosen tale.

“One night, she decided that she had done quite well for herself, and so she went and she drank and she partied, and altogether had a decent time with herself in celebration. That night, there was an ambush along the road, and many persons were badly wounded in the struggle. They sent word for her… but she was slow to come, and drunken out of her mind when she had finally arrived, walking about in a mere stupor of her usual talent. She operated upon the patients as best she could… but her hands were sticky with alcohol, and she jerked around uncomfortably whilst the substance held such a firm grasp upon her mind.”

“In the end, none of the patients survived the operation. Some mixture of her own slowness and the severity of the situation had coupled with her drunkenness, and so all of them died.” The hybrid paused for a few moments, leaning almost casually back into the chair as he further elaborated. “So, the question is this: Is it the fault of the Doctor that the patients died? You see… I don’t believe so given the circumstances.”

“Yet… let’s say that there was a battle being planned for that morning. Let’s say that the Doctor was fully informed that there would likely be injured personnel being sent her way, and that their wounds were liable to be severe, and she was told to keep on the watch for them lest they meet a gruesome fate… and she chose to drink and party and be merry regardless, and the soldiers passed.

Well, then it is her fault, isn’t it? She was provided all of the warning signs. She was told in advance. She was given ample alarm, and so any fault in her judgement is her own.”

Crimson eyes now flicked solely to the Tunawa, locking onto her with a predatory certainty. “You must certainly have known that we were at war with Gangui. The news of our exploits is not so carefully hidden that the common folk do not hear of it, and after all, he and his Turkey Company regularly speak of our accursed acts. I’m quite certain that you heard of our assassin, dispatched to slay him by any means necessary, and yet, you chose to intervene… to rescue him.”

“You became drunk on the wine of charity and loyalty, despite the warning signs that were given to you. You’ve filled your cup with it… and now… as with the doctor… there must be reprimand.”

Perhaps it was the Diri compelling him forward within the confines of his own mind, or perhaps it was the martial combat which had honed his reflexes to a knife’s edge, but the flicker of his hand as it snapped out towards the Tunawa was a mere blur, trapping her within the grip of his hand, and promptly twisting his entire form about once she had been contained. The fireplace of the tavern had likely been lit to provide warmth and comfort to the establishment’s patrons… though now it would only serve to offer the latter. With a mere flick of his hand, the Tunawa was launched across the room towards the flaming inferno to be consumed by its fiery maw.