#1
|
|||||
|
|||||
Chapter V: The Beast on Trial
"How shall I behold the face Henceforth of gods or angel, erst with joy And rapture so oft beheld? Those heavenly shapes Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze Insufferably bright. Oh might I here... In s-solitude live savage; i-in s-some g-g-glade Obscured, w-where highest woods, imp-pe-penetrable.... To star or sun-light, spread their umbrage broad And brown as... as.... She turned her head, suddenly, not expecting the break-down, and yet, expecting it. What she hadn't expected, and it surprised her to no end even now, was the poetry. No one had warned her about that. Everything else had come prepackaged once she had moved here. Carrion Hill being the mess it was, Kreselia got out while she could and moved to a more open-minded part of the country, and maybe might become a historian. When that didn't pan out, she signed up with the Constabulary. A handsome woman had not been part of the decision. Not at all. That same handsome woman who had assigned her to guard duty on this, the first day of the trial. "'Evening: Cover me, ye Pines, Ye Cedars, with innumerable boughs Hide me, where I may never see them more.'" The weeping stopped, and the prisoner, in shadows, turned its massive, hulking head, hair hanging past its face. She couldn't make him out, but she could see his scars. Scars she had heard about. Scars she had dreamed about. Scars she was not prepared to observe. "You know Gelton?" "'There are more things in Heaven and Beyond than dream't of in your philosophies.'" Devos Leycaun. Was this a monster, or a poet? "I remember my tutors making me read that one. I hated that play. Did you read it, or have you seen it? It's much better played." She was nervous. When she was nervous, she spoke. Kreselia had been told it was cute. She hoped the prisoner didn't find her cute. It—he?—wasn't. "Play? I read it. In a book." Its voice was deep, but had a kind of child-like air to it. "I like books. Do you like to read?" "Yes, I do, sometimes, but mostly Kindler. Ailson Kindler. I met her, once, when I was in Ardis. It's so good! She talks about traveling with her friends, and facing monsters, and—" "Monsters like me?" She stopped, unable to continue, though her mouth hung open. It spoke again before she could. "'And miserable it is To be to others cause of misery, Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring Into this cursed world a woeful race, That after wretched life must be at last Food for so foul a monster.'" Did it have the poem memorized? "No, not like you, I meant—" "I KNOW what YOU meant!" It stood, more than a full person taller than her: no, two. She backed away, her hand too shaky to fall to her blade, as she backed away from the cell. The chains rattled around its neck, straining from so little movement. Wrapped though its gigantic arms were, restrained though its beastly form, she had never seen a more terrifying monstrosity in her life. "BEHOLD THE BEAST!" The voice strained, sounding like a multitude of voices suddenly. "The one who EATS CHILDREN for breakfast, who PICKS TEETH with the BONES of WIDOWS! You stand before the most putrid beast in existence! Hail Rovagug, my kin, my brother: MY LESSER!" The creature roared, and she yelled, drawing her blade at last, finally. It shook in her hand. "'And what I should be, all but less then thee, Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; the Goodly hath not built Here for thou envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heaven.'" The prisoner stood for a moment more, and then began to weep, sitting back down. Steps down the stairs told her she was not alone: the other constables rushed in, polearms and enchanted weapons at the ready, a fury of lightning prepared. The prisoner did not react to them, too deep in his melancholy. "STOP!" She didn't realize she had said it, squeaking. Everyone turned to her, but the weeping was too loud. if someone else spoke, she heard it not. "It's already restrained itself. Let's... Just, I have this under control." The other guards, four in total, looked at her, the rookie, the recruit. Incredulous, she glared at each of them, squinting. They listened, leaving one by one, leaving her alone with the prisoner. She returned to her post, and looked on, wondering just what she was looking at. How many creatures had inhabited that cell in the last hour? The Beast of lore, or something else? All it said, repeating, was a single couplet:
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose Last edited by Sassafrass; Feb 26th, 2017 at 11:58 PM. |
#2
|
|||||
|
|||||
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose |
#3
|
|||||
|
|||||
__________________
Father of proud children. Expect the next 18+ years to be erratic and/or chaotic.
|
#4
|
|||||
|
|||||
Pike arrives at the table in a buoyant mood humming an old tune from a popular play he saw just a couple of weeks before leaving Kerse, having already dressed in clean clothes and combed his hair and beard "What would we do without the two of you?" he says with a smile as he witnesses the feast laid before them, a simple meal to some but for one who is harboring a slight hangover this surely is a feast if ever there was one. He helps himself to a cup of coffee and sits down, scooping up bacon and toast, a spoonful of marmalade and a slice of pear "Did you know that pears are forbidden in Druma?" he says as he waves the sweetest of fruits slowly in front of him "All thanks to the Resplendent Bureaucracy and the loopholes of laws. You see, years ago the Karthalis family was the sole importer of pears and other fruits from neighboring Andoran, but when Golden Diptera flies caused havoc on Druma's own harvest of apples and other fruits the cause was chased back to the shipment of pears arriving with Karthalis Company's caravans. Now, Druma doesn't grow pears, for some reason we have been unsuccessful in growing a good crop of this blasted fruit, might be the soil, I don't know. In any case, the Resplendent Bureaucracy put forth emergency laws forbidding the import of pears of Andoran stock while they dealt with the fruit eating Diptera and of course that same law was then put fully into effect by members of the Bureau out to harm the Karthalis family. Of course the same members, notable members - by the way - of the Dingare Company which also just happened to deal in import of fresh fruit and other similar wares later introduced their own pears imported from Molthune, another neighboring country which proximity could offer even fresher batch of pears to the capital of Kerse." he takes a bit from the pear, savoring the flavor as he slowly shakes his head "The Karthalis Company, fools by no means of course found out that Molthune had only in recent years started cultivating these delicious pears and to get them just right they used Andoran seed to grow them, making Molthune's pears of Andoran stock, not only that but they could trace the whole cultivational evolution of pears in central Golarion to our friends in the south." he rolls his eyes, a big grin on his face "So now pears are as good as illegal in Druma as neither party is willing to force the Bureau to revoke the laws. By now it's a matter of not backing down for these two powerful companies. Meanwhile pears are being hawked in the shadows of the black market, the largest buyers? Wealthy merchants, most of who have votes in the Resplendent Bureaucracy." He throws the remaining stem back on his plate and sips on his coffee "I understand and accept that laws and regulations are necessary but sometimes I wonder who they really serve." he sighs and reaches for another piece of pear "Adivion was leaning a bit against the edge, but not knowing him that could just be who he is. He seems alright in his own way, but I suspect he's the type who can't go a day without getting himself into some sort of trouble. Too clever for his own good, perhaps." he glances quickly at Kendra "No offense, half of the present company fits that bill." he offers an apologetic grin "I'll go to meet the Barrister, get that business out of the way. Then, if all goes well we might finally get to meet this fantastical Beast of Lepidstadt." Last edited by Cedric; Feb 28th, 2017 at 02:19 AM. |
#5
|
|||||
|
|||||
Carlo’s dreams were troubled. A woman who was not a woman came after him, and he was helpless to escape her. But then he trapped her briefly, long enough that the one she was after could escape. And escaping, he wondered about the motivations of the one who freed him. Why must it remain such a mystery? Was he the escapee or the one who helped the escapee get away? Or was he both? He stood before a mirror, and reaching out began pulling on the face he saw there. He woke with a start just as the mask was about to slip from his face.
It was well before dawn. He was shivering. He knew he could not go back to sleep, so he pulled out his cards and began to shuffle. Something gnawed at him. More than the mystery around Adivion, it was something going back a month or more to the day they had faced Feramin. A puzzle that his mind had not been able to solve again, though he’d solved it on that day alone. But it seemed so close now…. He pulled his card for the day: The Crows. An ominous sign, though it fit his mood well after that dream. Crows it was then. Crows it would be. He continued to shuffle as his mind jagged along the possible permutations of what he had done, what he had experienced. There must be a way. The idea seemed close now, close enough anyways. His spellbook and ink were at hand, but his was never quite the way of the wizard when it came to these things. He would never solve problems the easy way, like proofs regurgitated to appease some pedantic professor. No, it was always his way to take shortcuts. Not because they were ever any shorter, but because they were his and nobody else would ever choose to go that way. Sure, he’d jot down a few notes eventually to remind him of the less interesting concepts. But the magics that were truly his only existed in his mind along paths that none else could traverse. He sat on the bed as the cards shot through his hands in mimicry of the twisted paths his mind took while his body rocked back and forth unbeknownst. At some point Runa came and said something that he forgot as soon as she left, just as he forgot whatever reaction she may have had to the odd swaying pattern his body was undergoing. The procession started soon after. And coincidentally or not, it was then that everything began to click in the mind of the Varisian savant. Not just the puzzle he was looking for, the one he had solved almost by accident a month ago. But a new, more intriguing puzzle as well: how these very cards might influence his most secretive magics. He imagined those same crows he had drawn as the elemental grabbing the woman from the day before. So lost was he in his own mind, that his body continued of its own accord to express things he did not realize. In the halls without, a sudden cawing sound could be heard emanating from his cell. It was not exactly irreverent, though some religions might take it as such. Other religions might see in it an awkward innocence that they would seek to cloister away as if in protection. What those of this faith saw in it, Carlo could not say, for their faith was not his, and these sounds came unbidden to his mouth. A few more times the awkward sounds emerged from the cell. Often enough that the more diplomatic of the faithful were not taken unaware and could stoicly hide their reactions, though there were likely a few smirks exchanged amongst the acolytes. But none came to expel him or silence him as he pursued his own reverie of the mind separate from that reverie of the faithful that took place just without. As the ceremony drew to a close, one last long braying caw could be heard emanating from Carlo’s cell. It may have seemed to some in the audience that it came at an opportune time in the culmination of the service. Like a natural phenomena that happened to punctuate the observance. It was as if the God they served had selected some unexpected path through the undergrowth for them to travel. As if the God of the Sun would shine her glory through a murderous crow. Much was made right in the mind of Carlo during those long moments, many paths were created that had not been there before: magics that none but he would ever fully understand. But there was only one thing put to paper. Looking down to his spellbook, Carlo realized that what he saw there was not put there for him. It was there for those rigid sanctimonious fools bathed in the white light of the sun in the halls out there. “Damn. Well, I guess I’d better get some breakfast.”
__________________
On hiatus while I figure out my gender. Checkout my games at itchio. my mailbox is full, but you can reach me on twitter: @goatmealery |
#6
|
|||||
|
|||||
With a gait slowed by confusion and wonder, Mara softly tiptoes into the wide corridor. All along one side they stand on display, a freakish menagerie housed in an unending row of dismal grey cages, wrought from cold iron by colder souls. They are all there: a charcoal man with no arms nor legs; three men and a woman who compensate with too many arms and legs; a distorted hunchback too small, and an ugly brute too big; a woman with hair on her face and a boy with hair everywhere else. Each has its own cage, a private solitude amidst the gathering crowds. The pinheads are there, as is the albino Hesse. A great, bloated spider wears a woman’s face, a face of death and of the dead, flickering in and out of existence like a dying candle. And an enormous cage, cloaked in a darkness that not even Mara can penetrate, towers above them all—one can sense something great and terrible within, an invisible presence that reveals itself through weeping.
But the throng crowds around another cage, a smaller cage, and she is there. Part fish, part human, all monster. The hideously deformed tail, if it can even be called that, is on full display for the jeering mob. Instinctively the singer looks down, self-conscious, to see … … Hate. Anger. Fear. Disgust. It is on all the faces beyond the bars, but most of all it is on her face. Mara shrinks away, but there is nowhere to hide her poor naked body. They surround the cage, gawking at her, all of them united in … Wait. Not all. An elf stands aloof from the rest, his disdain reserved for the crowd instead. With an indifferent air he slides something into the cage—it resembles Hrani’s magical black blade … or an obsidian statue, crafted from midnight itself … or a strange key. She takes it, and places it into the lock. Nothing; it refuses to turn. “Bugger.” It is Carlo, oblivious to her plight, waving his arms in a shooing manner at a crow circling close above. “Kraa!” Beside the Varisian is his partner. But Andrzej is different from all the rest. He looks at her as he did that fateful day, with dark eyes filled with a quiet compassion. His hand reaches through the bars, gently grabbing hers. So soft. It is the hand of a person who has never done an honest day’s work. And then, with a sneer, his face darkens. “You have to mean it, love.” The self-destructive alcoholic returns, roughly guiding her hand with his. It hums with a dark, unknown power, coaxing the magical essence out of her body and into the now glowing key. The key turns, and the cage ... … is empty. The crowds are gone. The songstress stands alone, but with a curious sensation of lightness. Only a chill wind remains, blowing her skirt away from two long, shapely legs. ~ ~ ~ It is unlike any dream she has ever had before. They are noticeably absent, though she can still sense something lurking on the periphery, something that melts away whenever she tries to focus on it. And the curious lightness remains. She stays in bed for a long time, mulling over its meaning, before pulling off the sheets to … reveal two perfectly human legs. ~ ~ ~ Breakfast is a distracted affair. Mara doesn’t even seem to notice Kendra’s questions, though the soprano is not withdrawn, and certainly not morose. She smiles at the detective, pleasantly humming and singing along—though more loudly and firmly whenever the dwarf strays off key—and dives immediately into the pears and marmalade, though she allows the buttered toast its usual cooling off period. The usual niceties of conversation are offered in a reflexive, perfunctory manner as she continues to wonder at the morning’s revelation. It didn’t last, of course—but it wasn’t an illusion either. For a minute she was—well, certainly not normal, but probably normal for a human. Probably. Her legs—part of her still shudders in horror at the very thought—were in fact perfect, like those of a graceful porcelain doll. Too perfect, if truth be told. Unnaturally perfect. She unconsciously smoothes out her dress, then absent-mindedly nods at Pike. “Yes, the barrister sounds lovely.”
__________________
|
#7
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
#8
|
|||||
|
|||||
Carlo let Andrzej pick the eatery: he had the nose for where to find such things. He had things to tell his frati in private, and realized the only privacy they were like to get in this town was in the din of a busy restaurant.
“Frati, I have something I must tell you,” said Carlo after taking a single bite of his omellete. “That man at the other house last night, Adivan or whatever. He was the one who saved me in that barn.” He levels his gaze on his countryman. He will not say more, Andrzej knows the rest. “But he seemed to not want me to tell anyone else about it last night. And I didn’t want to tell you with all the others around. Why do you think he would want to keep it secret?” Carlo takes another bite, the obvious answer missing him completely. Adivion was probably signaling to Carlo that his secret was safe with him should he not want the others to know. But Carlo and obvious seldom go together. Their chatter continues as does their meal. Soon there is little left on his plate but scraps and spare bits of gravy. Carlo wipes the slop from his plate with the heal of a biscuit while broaching another subject with Andrzej. “You know, we both have these women who aren’t what they seem after us now. And we’ve fought with them only to see they are more powerful than us. And the crazy thing is, I think the only way we’re going to win is with the woman who is exactly what she seems. You know the one I’m talking about, eh? Crazy, to think the likes of us would be making friends with a Paladin.” Maybe it should have been obvious to Carlo that his countryman’s fascination with Runa this morning was not of the holy variety. But Carlo and obvious seldom go together.
__________________
On hiatus while I figure out my gender. Checkout my games at itchio. my mailbox is full, but you can reach me on twitter: @goatmealery |
#9
|
|||||
|
|||||
Hrani sits in his closet for hours after his meditation is complete, listening to any sound in the night. For a long time in the evening he had heard Thorsten and Samovar still up and about, drinking and talking. He had worried their noise was supposed to be a cover for whatever the others were up to, but he was ready. And nothing happened. There had been sounds throughout the night, not from the house but from outside the window. The magus had become tense several times, but again nothing happened. Now, in the morning hours, as the elf sat in the same spot, unmoving, studying his spellbook, he could hear the noise of cooking and the smell of food wafted in through the cracks around his barricaded door. The others were starting to prepare for the new day.
He glances down at the book in his hand one more time, before stowing it away. Sitting around and listening, he had had a lot of time to think, about the adventures he and his companions/traitors-in-waiting had already been through, and he thought about how he had handled everything that was thrown at him. In particular, he had thought about the time he had nearly been forced to freeze Samovar. And the episode with the Phase Spider, where his newest magical creation had nearly stopped his heart. He had added some notes to those particular pages in his spellbook, adjusted some calculations. Hopefully it would go a little bit better next time, knowing what to expect and with some minor adjustments. He had also jotted down a few notes and magical formulae for other spells that had occurred to him. A safe environment to test and adjust would of course have been preferable, but from the way things were going, Hrani was fairly certain when he got around to seeing if his calculations were correct, it would be in a situation with his life on the line. And his companions/traitors-in-waiting would be involved, either the ones plunging the knife in his back, or the ones in trouble, their life on the line just the same as his... The magus eventually leaves the closet and rises to his feet. After exchanging his clothes for a clean set, he shifts the dresser to the side, giving everyone already outside the chance to hear the sound of something scraping over the floor. He then opens the door, ready to draw on his arcane power at an instant's notice in case the others are lying in wait on the other side of the door. They are not, so Hrani settles down to breakfast with them instead of blasting them. The meal, once more, is a ridiculous feast, completely over the top for a standard breakfast. He didn't understand the other races' fascination with indulging, clearly their time on the road should have shown them they were perfectly fine with much simpler meals. But no, as soon as they had the chance, they returned to opulence and decadence. So the magus humors them by indulging alongside them, in a lesser manner. He has some of the bacon, and some of the pear, but less so than the others, in particular Pike, who is once more at the forefront of those poisoning their bodies. No wonder dwarves were resistant to poisons, any that weren't would quickly be thinned out by their own cultural habits... Pleasantly surprised at having avoided confrontation both during the night and before breakfast, Hrani is in an almost pleasant mood when the discussion turns to the day's plan. "I suppose if we are all going to see the Barrister, we might as well get it over with early, splitting up afterwards will be easier than trying to meet up again at a later time. I assume our remaining companions... The elf catches himself at the last moment before he actually speaks the 'traitors-in-waiting' part out loud. It wouldn't do to let them know he was expecting it. "...are off at the cathedral and will be rejoining us shortly? I also want to get the books to the university soon, so I think I might like to bring them along on our first stop to save time later, if no one has any objections..." |
#10
|
|||||
|
|||||
|
#11
|
|||||
|
|||||
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose |
#12
|
|||||
|
|||||
Mara nods approvingly when Kendra agrees that it is best for Samovar to sell—and more importantly, carry—all the goods they have brought from Ravengro. In fact, the songstress slowly and deliberately massages her slender arms, as if reminding everyone of the cruel injustice she suffered yesterday in carrying the heavy tomes. At the elf's offer to carry the books himself, she smiles agreeably, pleased that he would care to ensure that she is not saddled with the books a second time. “That is an excellent idea, Hrani.”
While they wait for the other three to return, Mara chews slowly on a piece of cold toast, then sips thoughtfully from her canteen. Her dream still floats aimlessly in her mind; every now and then it bumps into another memory. She can't place the source for her current thoughts: was it Sarianna, or perhaps even Jamir, or someone else? Somebody had mentioned a rather pricey magical item to her once, one—or were there two such items?—that was apparently a godsend in effecting a quick change of costume between scenes. She had not paid much attention at the time, for she would never ever be caught performing in such an opera, but given her recent vision, she can now imagine a much broader use for such an item. She eyes the halfling, then the elf, then even the dwarf. “Have any of you heard of an item .... magical, of course ... that could transform your outfit with but a thought? It might prove useful in some of the more elaborate productions. I wonder if such an item would be available here in Lepidstadt?” After all, if Samovar is going to convert goods into gold, somebody should take advantage of the transformation.
__________________
|
#13
|
|||||
|
|||||
__________________
Father of proud children. Expect the next 18+ years to be erratic and/or chaotic.
|
#14
|
|||||
|
|||||
"At any rate, best we get going. Samovar, you know where to find us, be back for lunch, hm?" Kendra, putting a jacket on, gets ready, as does everyone else. Jamir gets the goods to be sold in a neat corner of the room with Samovar's help, while Hrani and Pike collect the books to make sure that they have them. Soon, they're all collected. "See you soon!" Notes Kendra, with the air of a teenager. Samovar, left alone in the apartment, looks over the equipment and sighs. They reach the street as the two Varisians and Runa return, though not quite together, the two Varisians showing up last. From there, it's a short walk down a long street to the Town Square, and from there, to the Courthouse. Mild questions are asked as to how everyone's night was. Nothing as bad as Harrowstone at its worst, for sure, but that doesn't matter now. All of them have the Beast on their mind, in one way or another. The Town Square is already full of people ready for the first day of trials, set to begin not long from now. A large, squat building dominated by an enormous clock overlooks the town square. A huge figure of wood, roughly man-shaped, stands in the square in front of the building. The gigantic wooden effigy is being prepared as well, with now-recognizable priests and priestesses of Pharasma and Iomedae working away at it to make sure its of proper burning capabilities and that, from where Pike stands, the victim of such a device will suffocate before they burn. A small peace, or a cruelty unheard of? Moving around it, the building becomes more visible: the dark stones and wood of the Lepidstadt Courthouse are only slightly more inviting than the burning man. The guards stop them, the leader amongst them a tall blond man with a fresh set of facial hair. "Halt! What's your business, no visitors before the trial is set to begin." Mara and Kendra speak up. "We're here as the special defense barristers, I believe Judge Daramid will vouch for us?" The leader turns and calls out to one of his fellows, holding a clipboard on which is written on parchment a list. "Check to see if this bunch is on the list for the defense." Kendra lists their names, though how Daramid would know them is not certain; not everyone was mentioned at supper last night. "And is Adivion Adrissant already here?" Resentfully, the lower of the two guards nods to the higher up; it is not clear if the guard is angry at them for being on the defense, or at the leader. "You're clear. And no, no one by that name has come by. If you're looking for where Kaple is already, you'll find him in the Defense Chamber. Second floor, last door on your left." The other guards glare daggers at the group as they pass, particularly at the two Varisians, the Dwarf, and the Halfling. A smell overwhelms them as they enter, a chickeny broth that demands to be taken in and enjoyed. It's not a terrible smell, but it seems to contrast the weeping. It is loud and seems to shake the building, but there's little doubt as to whom it belongs. The Beast of Lepidstadt, below, cries. What kind of monster does that? One of the guards, appearing through a door, looks over the group curiously. She is short, with mousy hair, and seems shaken. "O-oh, you're looking for... what now?" Mara speaks up. "The Defense's room, if you please. We're special solicitors." The woman nods, and takes them to through the door to the main stairs, which appear to be in the barracks. Going up them, the wooden room gives way to a stone chamber, looking very much like a courtroom. Already there are guards here, and above in the atrium, a few select people, all of them looking regal, already sit in their perches. Judge Daramid is nowhere to be seen, but soon, following the very letter of the advice given to them, Kendra, Mara, Jamir, Pike, Hrani, Runa, Andrzej, and Carlo all find themselves shoved into a room too tight for them with a severe man, dressed as a barrister with his wig sitting on the table. He looks somewhat startled and irritated at first, but then stops. "You m-must be the n-n-n-n-new ba-ba-barristers I was told were c-c-c-c-coming." He growls, grabbing his throat, then shaking his face. "Gustav Kaple. Barrister for the Def-f-f-fense." He growls again. "Get it together, Gus!" He walks back to the table, on which sits seats of paper which seem to be of an official variety. The guard, having done her duty, walks away, back down the stairs, and quickly, as if she has somewhere else to be. The weeping does not cease nor does it continue to be loud, even here on the second floor. "So what's your b-b—Dammit, man! What's your background in legal defense? Why were you assigned here? I understand you have some investigative know-how? Why don't you begin with those, and tell me what details of the case you know so I don't have to backtrack. Time is of the es-es-es-essence." This is going to be troubling, if this is their capable defender.
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose |
#15
|
|||||
|
|||||
Books under his arms, Hrani joins the others on the arduous journey to their destination. It isn't so far that the weight of the books should bother him significantly, but somehow, today, everything seems to weigh more heavily. The biggest issue, however, is not the elf's ballast. It's the senseless behavior of all the humans of Lepidstadt that is really getting to him. The wooden effigy. The crowd of spectators. How can anyone possibly expect a fair trial here? The theory that the Whispering Way wants them to waste their time on the Beast here gains even more credence in the magus' eyes.
The guards are surprisingly easy. Someone has planned ahead. At least from that perspective everything is going astonishingly smooth so far, from how they had met up with Runa and the two Varisians without a hitch to all of their names being on the correct list now. Hrani doesn't speak as he enters the courthouse with the others, the weeping of the 'Beast' reaching his ears just like it does his companions'. But where in the others it might evoke sympathy, or confirm them in their belief that this being in captivity must be innocent, it does nothing for the elf. It is the mystery, more than anything else, that intrigues him. The obvious setup. The question of why? If his investigations should reveal truth to that suspicion, then they will likely be able to free the Beast. But if they cannot? Hrani is unlikely to spill any tears over the matter. The short, mousy-haired guard catches his attention, returning Hrani's mind to the present. He isn't ruling out that them running into her hasn't been prearranged by Judge Daramid, or someone else pulling the strings behind the curtain. Not with how guided by fate everything seems to be so far. The magus doesn't know what role this guard will play down the road, but then, he hasn't yet figured out what role he will be playing in this particular piece yet, either... They meet the barrister. And the man has a stutter. Somehow, Hrani is not surprised. With the whole city already having condemned the Beast, of course the appointed barrister will be questionable, and not the most accomplished one that could be found in Lepidstadt. They - or more precisely their Beast - will just have to hope there is more to the scrap-heap barrister that did land the job than the first impression would suggest. He asks for their qualifications. 'Ah, here then is the first hitch of this day. And things were going so smoothly...' Of course, they don't have much in the way of qualifications. Pike has the investigative expertise, which is at least something. But none of them have any business being in a court room, most likely. Least of all him. He doesn't know anything about legal proceedings. "Is that so? You think you know nothing of value? You think nothing from the trial of Arcadi the Mirrored applies here? Everything you have read on the rise and fall of Gola is meaningless then, despite the fact that he was charged twenty seven times and never once convicted?" Orenmir interrupts his doubt. And it is true, Hrani realizes. He has read a lot on politics and court cases of important figures. Like with the interest in military strategies, the same question as yesterday poses itself: When and why did he grow interested in these sorts of things, if he can't even remember consciously doing so? 'While an admittedly fascinating question, perhaps you should focus on one at a time and start by answering the barrister's?' Right. The barrister's question. "We all have very various backgrounds, and we have been assigned here, I would say, because we can help. Most importantly, we are not the least bit convinced by the Beast's guilt, both in this matter and in all the crimes attributed to it. Which, at least that is my impression thus far, makes us quite rare already among the people of Lepidstadt, and valuable to you for that reason alone. But as I said, we do all contribute various abilities that will be of use to you. More on the investigative side than in the actual courtroom for most of us, I think. Me, for example, I will never sway a judge with my words that anyone is guilty or innocent, I lack the honeyed tongue some of my other companions are blessed with, and I am good at neither reading nor predicting the reactions of humans as your race makes little sense to me. But I do have a very solid background in history, including quite a bit of knowledge on court cases all throughout the world. I'll leave it to the others to inform you on their particular abilities, but I will add one more thing: In addition to what each of us offers individually, as a group we have connections you will need. To the common people of Lepidstadt, to the students at the university, and to the faculty. All of which will be instrumental in investigating and shaping the public opinion..." That is all Hrani says. The elf has already talked too much for his own taste. Let the others explain what details of the case they already know. The tongues of Mara, Runa and Kendra are certainly more likely to convince the barrister of their usefulness than his own, anyway... |
Thread Tools | |
|
|