| abstract
| - At some point during the night, Vhramis had apparently returned to the Imperial tent. The afternoon finds him still deep asleep, laying on his stomach, his face buried in the leather pack he took for the expedition. Syton steps into the tent, bundled up warmly against the cold evening, and wearing the same scowl that he's had for the past two days. He has yet to wear it out, it seems. The young freelander looks around the tent, spots Vhramis, and his frown deepens. He walks over to the ranger, folds his arms across his chest, and regards the man darkly. Maybe Wolfsbane wasn't sleeping as deeply as it first appeared. As Temple pauses by his bedroll, the ranger grunts quietly into the leather, shifting a bit. "What?" he prompts. "Are we going?" "No, Master Wolfsbane," Syton replies cooly. "No one seems to know what to do. Soravyn has yet to be seen." Another glance around the tent, then he asks, "Assuming you have not been asleep all day, I am looking for Lucius; have you seen him?" "He's not been in the tent. Or I've not seen him," Wolfsbane answers with a mutter, before shifting a bit to lift his head and peer up to Temple, bleary-eyed. "Soravyn's gone, is he?" he states, dryly. "Wonderful. So we're going to need to do all of this without his input." "Whatever there is left to do," Syton replies with a shrug, then promptly returns to looking irritated. "No one seems to no where we stand anymore. Anyway, I am glad Soravyn left last night. At least he did not get swindled." "Yes. Well. When you're spared the work of folding up countless tents which would no longer have inhabitants, be glad," answers Wolfsbane, rising to his feet. "Whether or not Kalath'aria comes seeking answers as to why I gave away her gift will be my concern, and the consequences mine, and so you won't need to worry about that either." "You had enough trouble with your decision, Master Wolfsbane, so I do not mind so much," Syton replies, looking back to the tent flap for a moment. "Lucius, however, was far too quick to take the easy answer. He is a soldier, it makes sense, but the easy answer is rarely the right one. I would like, at least, to see if he gave any thought at all to what he was doing." Wolfsbane seems to take a moment to think, staring blankly at Syton. His hand twitches slightly as he makes a move to reach to where a certain weapon would be on his shoulder, though he stops midway. "Was probably just trying to save lives. An assault on the wall would have been costly." With an apple in one gauntleted hand, and the other resting upon the hilt of the kukri that sleeps within the black sheath at his waist, Soravyn Zahir greets the cold evening at the base of the Drakesreach Bluff, stepping out of the command tent for what may be the last time ever. He is, as usual, clothed in the reflective-scarlet half-plate armor of Crown's Refuge; a hue second only to the soft dusty-blue glow of the greatsword upon his back. He seems to be stand, quietly as if in thought, once the canvas of the tent is breeched, peering up at Crown's Refuge with the steel-blue gaze of a Justiciar that once was, but is now something else entirely. Given the outcome of last night's events, it's curious that he doesn't seem... cheerful. "You are right," Syton agrees with a nod. However, a few moments later, he tilts his head to the side and asks, "but would an assault have been more costly than what we gave him? Obviously those were more than just a shield and a bow. There was power in those things, power which was given up last night without even knowing what it was." Syton and Vhramis stand in the Imperial tent, at the moment. Wolfsbane clutches at the wrist of his own reaching hand, squeezing it something seeming curiously like admonishment. "What was sacrificed last night by me was a part of my history and identity, which is deeper than I wish to explain." His hands slide down and the ranger seems to hug at himself for a moment, before crossing his arms. "In addition, it was a symbol of trust in my ability to do what's right, and what's needed, to keep that town... city... safe. In giving it up... I may as well have given up the symbol of my duty to it. Flung it away for an 'easier' out. But that choice may have saved countless lives of it's citizens. The same ones I was charged to protect. I ask you, Syton Temple. What would /you/ have done?" "BLOOD GUARD." The apple now half eaten, and private thoughts attended to, the Archon's voice carries through the dusky air in an effort to gain the attention of his people, both Wildlander and Syladris alike. "Get ready to move." he offers a moment later, barking in a slightly more level tone of voice. "I do not know what I would have done. The same as you, probably, but such is the benefit of beind ordinary, Master Wolfsbane, that I did not have to make such a choice." Syton answers simply, taking step back. He turns an ear back towards Soravyn's voice. "There you have it," he says with a look back towards Vhramis. Before he turns to step out of the tent, Syton adds, "I know it is hardly the boon of a Drake, but you may have my bow if you wish. I am not likely to hit anything with it anyway." A shrug, then he steps out of the tent and approaches Soravyn. Wolfsbane shakes his head, ducking out of the tent to move beside Temple in approaching the Archon. "I've often wondered if I was just a figurehead or a symbol to that city, or something more. It seems I may be on my way to finding out. And... I'll make a new bow for myself, when the time is right. Count on that." "The latter." Soravyn remarks, casting a somewhat level glance upon Syton and Vhramis as they approach, pausing for a moment to take another bite out of the apple that's now down to but a third of what it once was. His expression is unreadable; the steel blue of his eyes cold, his posture neither tense nor loose. Regardless, there's an impression of vexation about him. "At what point," he begins, each word measured and clear, "Did you and your friends become self important enough to feel that you could decide the fate of a city that you have never stepped inside?" "Lucius and Master Wolfsbane did what they thought was best," Syton says to Soravyn, leaning against his staff and picking one foot off the ground. "I do not agree with how they went about it--" a quick sideways glance to Vhramis "--but their intentions were pure, at least." "I've never stepped inside the city it is now. But I've been inside the town it once was," Wolfsbane answers, a conflicting mix of emotions clear on his expression. "You shame me. I never acted as such in doubt of the ability or willingness of the people of Crown's Refuge to defend or sacrifice themselves. But in the acting, if I've cast doubt on all that they're able to do just that, then I've done far worse than I could ever have dreamt of." Casting what remains of the apple on the ground, Soravyn holds up the same hand in a gesture of silence. "You of all people should know what independence means to a Wildlander, Vhramis Wolfbane; it's a value that you helped show those who were here when this was all nothing more than a few shacks and a wooden wall. A value that, in just a *year*, has formed the foundation upon which Crown's Refuge was reborn." He points to the city. "A value that taught that some things were *worth fighting for*. You may have thought that what you did - dealing with *Val'sharax* of all things - might have been for the best, but I ask you this: Best for whom? The People of Crown's Refuge, or yourself? Because - from where we stand right now and from where we've stood for the last two months - I can answer that question for you if you can't find an answer." Syton looks from Soravyn to Vhramis. He exhales slightly and turns away from the pair. He takes a few steps towards the city, his quarterstaff tapping rhythmically, thoughtfully against the ground as he considers the city in the distance. Whatever may be on his mind, he seems displeased with it, shaking his head and looking somewhat disgusted. Wolfsbane winces as if the Archon's words had physically slapped him, the ranger shaking his head. Not in denial. But more in disgust. "Betrayal is not forgiven. Trust is a gift," he mutters to himself, turning away, unable to face Soravyn any longer. He fixes his gaze on the city, staring to it with a haunted expression. "In my time of Justiciar I like to think that I earned a talent for noticing things that don't quite add up." Soravyn offers in a softer tone of voice, evidently stricken with a moment of compassion for the ranger as the choices made in good faith come back to haunt him. "For example, did any of you, *any* at all, stop to think for a moment about just how Val'sharax *knew* why we were camped here? Or how he *knew* exactly what to look for? Or how he *knew* just what had caused it, and how to break it?" "He is the one who enabled them to take the city in first place," Syton replies. His disgusted look deepens and he is unable to look at Crown's Refuge anymore. He turns to looks back to Vhramis and Soravyn. "Val'sharax mentioned striking the same kind of deal with Ebonhold." He flicks his head back towards the city, behind him. "If this is the kind of balance he favors, I find it somewhat lacking." "Kalath'aria must never have returned to Ebonhold," states Wolfsbane quietly, his attention still fixed on the distant town. "She would not have allowed this. I can't let myself believe she would have, had she still dwelled there." He rolls his shoulder slightly, an action which would have made more sense should the bow have still rested there, but a habit nonetheless. "Or perhaps she never returned to Ebonhold just so these situations could occur," Soravyn muses, looking between Syton and Vhramis, even though they're not looking at him in turn. "Ebonhold may have made a deal with Val'sharax, a trade for a trade. You made a deal with Val'sharax, a trade for a trade. Your actions canceled out those of Ebonhold, and thus nothing has changed. I'm afraid to say that, if anything, Val'sharax is operating within the boundries that his kind have set out for themselves, but with a cunning that befits a red dragon." There's a discernable pause between that comment and the one that he follows it up with, "And we are left with a problem that had no face to begin with and no has vanished, for how can you find something when you don't know what it looks like? Had we struggled to overcome this problem on our own, we could have ended this threat once and for all. Perhaps with cost to life, perhaps not. Those are the risks that we are faced with every day. Now we can do nothing but hope that this "He Who Is Incarnate" never surfaces again. As for you..." The Archon sighs. "As for you, it seems that you were outfoxed by a dragon; deceived by the promise of an easy road and lured into acting against your own sense of reason and losing something you held dear in the process. I can only hope it was worth it, Vhramis." "There is no sense in dwelling on our loss," Syton says, scratching the side of his head with the end of his quarterstaff. "Such a deal cannot be unmade, so let us learn from it and move on. Forgive me for saying so, but I am quite /sick/ of the anger and inflated self-importance that has filled this camp the past week, and we need not add self-pity to such a bitter stew." Ironically enough, he looks rather angry while speaking, "So please, I beg of you, let us get to the task at hand--whatever it may be--and we can give and take our lashes on another day." The ranger swallows heavily against the lump forming in his throat, his gaze wavering upon the distant walled city. There's nothing to say. Certainly denial is always an option, but such a thing is easier done in private, where such annoyances as facts and reason can be blotted out. With a flutter of dark wings, a familiar raven returns to his favorite perch on Wolfsbane's shoulder, though the man doesn't notice, instead rubbing at his face with a single gloved hand. With a soft quork, Medivh cocks his head to the man, before darting it's head in to tear at his ear. The irony is apparently lost on Vhramis. "Come on then." Soravyn finally states, offering but the slighest hint of a smile as he moves ahead of the two Fastheldians, the scarlet of his armor all but a shadow in the dusk that has descended upon the Wildlands once more. "As Master Syton states, what is done cannot be undone, and there are at least a few positive aspects of this development clustered around the negative ones. Life is for the living, after all, so..." The Archon shrugs, but (finally) smiles all the same. "Why not live it? You can dwell on the lessons learned at a later date." "Well said," Syton chimes in, nodding his head in agreement. He sets off after Soravyn. His quarterstaff taps at the ground at his side, though it doesn't really help him walk. "It will be difficult, as you said," Syton says to Soravyn as he reaches his side, "but I believe we still may have a chance to catch this He Who Is Incarnate... that is, if he is not too much smarter than we are." Sensing that all is not right with it's perch, perhaps at the lack of struggling, Medivh pauses in it's attack on the ear of Wolfsbane, instead hopping furtively back and forth for a moment. Another questioning quork sounds from it's yellow beak, the raven cocking it's head in sharp, darting motions, before it spreads it's wings to take flight once again. Though not without first relieving itself on the man's shoulder. Wolfsbane doesn't seem to notice as he lowers his hand from his face, drawing a steadying breath of the cold night air. He reaches into a pocket of his cloak, drawing out a small patch of fabric, of which he looks down to and rubs a thumb over in thought. "I think it might be difficult to catch something that exists in name only, Master Temple," Soravyn muses as he walks, reaching the foot of the Crown's Refuge approach before looking upon the gates of Crown's Bulwark above, "But the Light works in mysterious ways, so who can say?"
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)