Two Corpses

Log Info

• Title: Two Corpses
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Ezil
• Place: A07: Fernwood Pub
• Time: Monday, March 16, 2020, 2:13 AM
• Summary: Ezil is organizing he weapons at the Fernwood Pub, when Cryosanthia arrives with two bound bundles which she drops off in the back. The sith-makar is clearly troubled about something, and looking lost. Ezil makes an effort to assist her, and all her frustration comes out. A recent Guild mission went badly, due to restricted information and the party composition. The party was tasked with clearing a Dryad's grove of kobolds, in exchange for locks of her hair. The egalrin on the mission was uncooperative and acting unilaterally. Cryo was reluctant to kill the kobolds, even though they weren't reciprocal and she knocked out their leader causing the rest to flee. While she was deciding what to do with her prisoner, the egalrin killed him. This angered the sith-makar, but she wasn't about to revenge a murderous kobold. She took the bodies and bad attitude to the Fernwood, where she and Ezil discuss entitled Alexandrians, hardships, and the quality of Explorer's Guild adventures and adventurers. Cryo falls asleep.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A07: Fernwood Pub *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The common room of the Fernwood Pub dominates the inn, spacious and airy because of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ornately carved beams of dark, polished wood form a lattice overhead, supporting the arched roof two storeys above the floor. To the right of the double-door entry is a spiral staircase, winding upwards to a balcony that rings and overlooks the main area. Large windows at this level grant an excellent view of the river to the west and colorful market stalls to the north and east. An air of coziness is salvaged by keeping the pub dimly lit; parchment-shrouded mana lanterns hang at intervals from the base of the balcony, nestled amongst lush, magically propagated ivy and ferns that grow over this false demi-ceiling and the struts that support it.

The bar is sleek and simple, comprised of meticulously polished black lacquer. Tables are set under the darker niches formed by the balcony floor as well as on the balcony itself. A few are deliberately sized to accommodate halflings and gnomes, but the majority are meant for human-sized individuals. A large common table is on the main floor, set before a semi-circular stage situated against the western wall. Beside it, with pipes mounted upon the wall and running up past the balcony and almost to the ceiling, is a refurbished pipe organ made to look like the one lost when the Fernwood was destroyed during the Merkabah Siege.

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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ezil         5'11"    175 Lb     Human             Male      An armored man with dark skin, and grey-blonde hair.
Cryosanthia  6'7"     245 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos.
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The full moon is up. The tide is high and ebbing. Light rain falls from a grey-black sky without moon or stars. It's chilly and there's a fresh wind from the east.

Ezil sits at a table, doing what Braelnoir had just a few nights before. He is sorting his gear, two new weapons on the table as he organizes his swordbelt and traveling bags. A warhammer, and a longbow that has a recurve, and looking to have a hefty draw weight. His drink sits off to the side, mostly untouched as the time has grown late into the night. Most patrons are gone, only the few regulars who stay here remaining. The tsuran seems committed to his task, sorting and stowing things in preparation for more excursions for the Guild.

There is a fumbling with the latch for the main door. It rattles several times, as if someone is attempting to open it and has no dexterity at all. Finally there's a click and the door swings open. A white-scaled tail enters first, followed by some carried bundle, a palescale sith-makar, and the second bundle she has on her other shoulder.

Whatever she's carrying, they're wrapped up and tied with ropes to make handles, and they're heavy, enough that she's trudging and each step of hers is a solid thunk. Each one seems vaguely humanoid, although small in proportion.

The sith doesn't look at the bartender, any of the patrons, instead stomps straight to the kitchen bodies through the door there. Snippets of conversation are heard, mostly her voice, louder than usual.

"No, they're not meat."

"Well I don't know what to do with them either. They aren't going to thaw."

"I KNOW they're not clean. I don't know where to put them. Can we just, can I just, put them in the staff room until I put my brain back together, can you give me that?"

"No. I'm not okay. Thank you."

Cryosanthia reappears, and stands there. The kitchen door swinging open and closed behind her, until it works itself still. She stares at the rest of the Fernwood Pub, not moving at all. Finally she flickers her hands through some arcane gestures, her gloves glow white, and she makes the washing motions at herself. Her face, her shoulders, her back, her body. Her face. Her face again.

Ezil had been on his feet the moment he saw that odd sight. He's standing near his table, staring at Cryosanthia with a flat glance. Concern, and some worry. "What in the hells happened there, White-One?" he asks, his gear forgotten for a moment as he crosses towards the white sith-makar. "Does anyone needs tending? That... yeah. That didn't look good."

Cryosanthia remains standing where she is, although she stops her nervous washing. Her gaze is fixed forward, following Ezil as he approaches. There's nothing hostile in her posture, but no warmth either, and she seems rather too still. She is very much a large female lizard, standing there, with none of her softer mannerisms engaged.

"This one needs a drink. They," the sith's head twitches backwards, "are two days dead. Beyond tending."

Then she's back to standing there, not moving. Her eyes have wide pupils, usually that's a sign of fear for her, and usually it only lasts for a moment. They look like they've been wide for a while.

"Well lets get you a drink, and then you can tell me the story." Ezil's tone conceding to her desires and not pushing it. He crosses to the bar to order something, motioning toward the table he is at, speaking to Cryosanthia. "Go get comfortable. You got a look that I don't like. It reminds me of a soldier gone too long to war." then ordering her a drink, his sigh heavy as he looks back to her when he's done.

She doesn't move. She looks at Ezil's table, there's a slight surge of her head towards it, and then she remains where she is, simply staring. Waiting. She's gotten this far, and that seems the limit of her thoughts and plans. Get back to the Fernwood Pub, everything will be fine once you're there. Except she's there, and it isn't, and she's gotten stuck on this thought. Her hands flicker through the gestures, her gloves are glowing once more, and she's washing at her shoulders and back again.

Ezil soon has her a drink, crossing towards her as he pauses a few steps away. "If you were of the Rom, I would of put a boot in your ass already. You aren't, but I am worried all the same" speaking with kindness, though his words seem a bit harsh, despite his smile and half-laugh. "Stop gawking like a dinlow, and let me get you settled." looking back to the barkeep and yelling. "Get me a blanket, and warm it by the fire. We will need another drink, and food." making perparations for his friend. "White-One, now is not the time to stop. Stopping can come later when you sleep. Now let's get you taken care of."

"Have you killed children?" The sith-makar twitches her head enough to stare directly at Ezil. Those bundles she was carrying, they would be about the right size. She doesn't move on her own, but it seems she can be led, or will follow. Her movements are tight and efficient, her footfalls light but with a loud clicking of her talons. Niceties like curling them so they don't strike seem forgotten. She can be moved to a seat, and once seated, takes up her drink immediately. She hasn't blinked, her pupils are still wide and dark.

"Yes, we both have." Ezil says flatly. "One may of already been dead, but we sent him off, and the other died because we stopped Eclavdran's plan. Lives were lost that day... but we restored order." but as to answer her question further, he shrugs. "We kill children all the time. Some of the beasts we face have only lived but a handful of summers and have much of their youth left." his glance falling away as he sits across from her. "They may not always be things we perceive as 'children', but we kill them all the same. The difference is... you killed children that you recognize, and that will leave a mark on one's conscience. So.... do you want to talk about it?"

"This shouldn't be bothering me." She says, her cold, empty and very wide eyes are fixed on Ezil's. There is a tiny amount of sparkle around the edges as they catch the Fernwood's light. "They're not younglings. It's not the season, I've not laid, they're not my kind. They don't even look right, proportions wrong, scales too old, scent wrong. Why am I feeling things? I didn't kill them. Masamya killed them both. They wouldn't listen, wouldn't back down."

The sith-makar takes another long drink, "This one did nothing wrong. This one tried to talk. The talking didn't work."

Ezil holds up a hand to stop her for a moment, the blanket and food arriving. Both are warm, but he takes a moment to stand and drape it over her, letting that feeling of soft and warm permeate her silvery-white scales. The food is roast and vegetables served together with some broth, his words soft as he speaks. "Who is Masamya? It's always best to start the tale from the beginning if you can. I get parts of it, but others..... I don't." he explains, taking his time before he returns to his seat, taking the warhammer and bow off the table.

"She is Egalrin. She spied on the sith-makar Caste Ceremony, which we do not share with others. She joined Acedia, this one, on an Adventurer's Guild misssion. Reluctant to come, she immediately grabbed a knife we were given by a man at the guild and threatened him with it. Puffed herself out at all times, did not socialize. Our job stated, get hair from the dryad. Our job not stated, clean up the messs of a previous adventure mission." Cryosanthia snaps out the words. Her phrasing is very draconic, even her pronunciation gives the tradespeak the hard edges of the other language. A hissing creeps in at times, something that almost never happens with her. She starts on the food, and eats. It's clear she hasn't eaten well the last two days either.

"A Nest of Kobolds. They cleared it out. The kobolds were not all killed, they fled to the dryad's grove, took revenge on her and her trees. This is the mess we were to sort out, without all details. He knew! Masamya was more than happy to kill them on sight." Cryosanthia clenches her fist tightly, then relaxes it, inhaling and exhaling like a beast.

"Yeah, I can believe it.... I don't like it but I told you that's what some of these adventurers are like." Ezil's tone having an edge to it too, looking at Cryosanthia with a worried glance, but he continues after a hefting sigh. "They don't care about what's happening as much as to them it's just doing a job. Children, even if they're kobolds, are children. I've tried to talk with people who think me a fool, but to them not all life is sacred, and some are seen as pests and vermin to be put down." making his opinion of such people clear. "It's like those who abandoned the child being groomed by Eclavdran... all they cared of was the 'mission', and cared not for any other detail."

"This one expected... more? Acedia, was good. This one trusts her, she undersstood. That goblins have only recently been embraced as not pests. Not vermin. Masamya... no, not as bad as Charnath. One wonders. This one has met few eglarin. One, hunts humans; another offered to beat me up; Masamya, slays gleefully and does not discuss. The birds are all bloodthirssty?" Cryosanthia shakes her head, taking another swallow and finishing her drink. Working at her food.

"The Kobolds were pathetic. This one took them all on, they broke and fled. Their leader I knocked out. This one did not relish having her own Jerboba. While I was pondering, the egalrin killed him with lightning."

"The Egalrin are much the same as goblins, White-One. Recently accepted, but once seen as ruthless and blood-thirsty. They have honor, and a code of sorts, but not all of them are bad." Ezil's words coming with a deep breath as her tale seems to resonate with him. "This is why I follow the path I do.... just because we deem something beneath us, doesn't mean that they don't deserve respect or consideration."

"I am sorry you had to experience that. I wish it on no one, but all we can do is be better than the others. All we can do is walk a better path, and hope others choose to walk it too. The 'All-Friend' doesn't earn me respect, but I would rather be mocked and laughed at than... than be the Dark Soldier." Ezil explains, sitting back in his seat, and looking away once more as he leans it back on two legs. "I'd spit, but I don't think the barkeep would like it."

"This one lacks surpise. It was not assked. It was not warned. It was done. This one dislikes lightning surprises, this one dislikes wanting to kill one's party members more than the enemy." Cryosanthia snaps out her words.

She pounds her fist on the table, making everything jump. "This one Speaks! Trained to speak to the troglodytes and sluaghin. To negotiate. To solve problems with words! Why didn't they listen? Why did my own party as much as attack and undermine me. There wasn't an easy solution but there might have been one if they dug, but she went straight to murder. Unconscious! What honour is there in that?"

The sith-makar chuffs a bitter laugh, her voice rising, "I guess at least he didn't see it coming. Managed to die both in battle AND his sleep, now that's lying down on the job. Hey I've got a shocking question, what's got two wings but not two shits? An Egalrin! What do you think, should I get up on stage?"

She's getting looks from around the pub.

Perhaps spending time with two corpses wasn't the best thing for her.

"You met one shitty Egalrin, and know a couple more who make you nervous. Talk to some of the others, and you'll see not all of them are like this one who makes you want to kill." Ezil says with calm tone, sitting forward suddenly as he shakes his head. "You have a right to be upset, and I won't tell you to let it go, but you either need to take it out on Masamya, or you need to find a way to cope with it, and do better. I don't want to see you murder anyone, but some people deserve what they sow. I just don't think many will back you, because our world is an imperfect and shitty place." Ezil puts bluntly.

"I don't like Alexandria, or many of its entitled people. I am not from here, and neither are you. We've seen darker things beyond the walls, and recognize that darkness here where it hides. Yeah, the Guild will protect them, but we know the Guild isn't perfect. I've said this many times, but the only thing you can do... is control yourself." looking back at her then, sighing a second time. "I spent a long time alone because I needed to sort through my own mind, and you know what I came up with? We're all Althea's children. All born under the same sun and stars. You're a speaker, and you too know that there can be bridges built betweem the races, but that road is hard, and filled with heartache. The easy thing? Is to give up and go to war. Which helps no one."

"This one sees no point in confronting a self appointed protector who acts without explanation or consultation. That mind is as hard as rock, it can only be smashed." Cryosanthia snarls, snorting then growling an exhale.

"This one had not decided. This one was deciding, if there was a bridge or a necessary death. She took that from me, the peace of settling the thought. I was thinking it would be more merciful to kill him, before he awoke. That I did not want a Jerboba, to carry a Kobold in Alexandria, to Mictlan. To be stuck with a murderer. That it would have been easier to kill him in the fight than strive for mercy."

The white-scale sith huffs again, hanging her head, "I asked Shaman Geir what could my ancestors tell me if they warred on their own kind. Smashed sith eggs of another tribe. How would their experiences be of any use to me? Well now I know. Not the same but close enough. The feeling of easy failure."

"We all fail. I fail all the time. I couldn't save Shin or Lysos from those artifice. I had to rely on you for that. I am just... a mountain of failure, but I keep trying because I have too. To give up means letting your fears win, and I can't. I will keep going until it either kills me, or others see the world as I do." Eil says, looking to her with a concerned glance. "I don't know how Sith see things like this, but I know that I do still accomplish great things, but not always as I had hoped or wish. I don't want to kill anything. That's why I am stuck with Jerboba for now. He begged for mercy, and I felt obliged... I couldn't let that child sit in jail either. I just keep trying to do what I feel is best, it's all I can do. These things happen, but... you learn from them. You learn who can and can't be trusted."

"That, was a team." Cryosanthia points at Ezil, her hand with the gold ring. "There was not one there I wouldn't protect, even Shin."

The sith-makar looks down at her plate. There is food still to be chased and eaten. She does. "We see many of our hatchlings die before their second year. We see softskins, weaker in every way except the mind doing more than we can imagine. We see the sith who were not sheltered in Am'shere, dwindled to brutal ignorance and driven to extermination. We see Charnath, sending their elite forces to toughen themselves against us, and their slavers to take the weak. We see a lot of reason to kill anything unlike ourselves and our Silver Empress saying that's not the way, we need to be better, this little change we can do."

Cryo loks up from her plate. Her eyes are normal again, still cold, still emotionless. It's easy to see the monster in her. "This one sees who is trying to be better, and who is not. Masamya, was not. She is happy in her shell of judgements."

"But you can't let her actions allow you to be consumed by your own judgments either." Ezil notes, raising a hand to flag the lone waitress working at this hour. "Let's get you some more, yes?" speaking of the food before he continues. "I am sorry your people suffer, White-One. I could tell you about how mine were exiled. How we're treated as thieves and murderers just because no one bothers to look deeper at us. The horse lords are our closest friends, but the rest see us as trash. Malik got a black eye in a bar just for the color of his skin, and the accent he speaks with." Ezil ordering some more food then as the waitress draws near.

"If I could, I'd wage war with Charnath and set all those who are enslaved free, but... I am one man, and even of my sect I am seen as an oditty. I was blessed by The Mother, and no one knows why. I command her blessings, but I don't walk among her church. I am a fluke, one that has little power, but all the desire. These are the injustices that make my heart hurt, and you have been one of the few to ever see what it is I want to fight..." Ezil's words trailing off as he just tosses out his last words. "We dont fight for money or praise. We're not like these bred adventurers."

"Some more food would be nice." Cryo is mostly staring a the table now, having gotten a little quieter. The waitress gets some food, as requested, then unexpectedly gives the sith-makar a hug after she drops it off. She leaves quickly. Cryo watches her leave.

"It seems funny to me, to fight someone over their colour." Cryo remarks, rubbing at her scales. "I know why and what you fight. This one does not doubt. Thanks, for your words, for understanding, for talking me out. This one knows even among only humans, there are groups that do not see each other as people, but it is a much farther gaze to include my kind as one. It is appreciated, greatly. A kobold is easy for me to see as kin. This egalrin..."

She shakes her head slowly, "this one can't see her. She is too much a bred adventurer."

"Sorry, I get angry when I hear of injustices because of such things. I am not comparing what my people have been through to yours... but saying we have all suffered from the mentality that some carry." Ezil amends, looking away as the next plate of food is brought out. "I just get my blood boiling because an injustice for our kind, should be an injustice to any other kind too."

"These are worthy angers." Cryosanthia eats slowly. She looks tired now, simply tired and full of food and wanting to sneak off to lie on something warm as reptiles are wont to do.

"I have two bodies I don't know what to do with. Burn them, is what we usually do. I don't know if they would be well received at Mictlan or Alexandrian's Vardama Temple. I don't want to ask. I want to sleep. I don't want to feel their stiff bodies against mine." She pulls the blanket closer around herself, moves her plate aside, leans forward and rests her head on the table.

"The Vardamans are strange, but they will likely respect your wishes. I would say we could offer them a Tsuran burial, but that depends on the caravan. My family burns the body, and all their possessions. Their name is then cast aside, and never used again. We refer to them by mother, father, and grandfather. It is why our tales often carry no names in them. It is considered to invite evil to speak of the deceased by direct name." Ezil admits, sighing as she sets her head to the table. "One caravan won't even touch their dead. They get a gorgio to come and dress the body, and their family comes from all ends of the vast to hold great tribute." leaving out the detail that this means his family must never use his name or speak of him, thinking him dead.

"Well no names were given, so it's easy enough to avoid using them." Cryosanthia tells the table, really really closely. "Burning, would be best. Their spirits can pretend they were sith, with a sith burial. Wha... whateverr... you... is good."

She goes quiet. That does not seem to be a comfortable position to be sleeping in. It looks like she wasn't given a choice with that, either.

Ezil shakes his head, standing as he moves to adjust the blanket around her, making sure that despite her resistances to such things, she woudln't feel any chill from the bar this night. "It's a warriors funeral too, and I am sure their souls should be honored to be seen as equal to a sith." his words comforting, despite the sith already being asleep against the table. "We will load them in them morning, and find a place to your liking to set them free." going back to his seat, offering to stay until she wakes. They will have a busy day by the looks of things.