faderift | MOD PLOT | CHAMPROVENT.

The harshness of Teren's edict grates, but she isn't wrong. That is the end result here, no matter how gently they approach it. He meets Vance's eyes, nods. No, they could not take that man for granted. Nor the woman, who swears she is capable of fighting as well. Two capable fighters alongside six desperate people would be enough to tip the scales.

"Vance is right," Ellis says, as he moves a subtle step between Edgard and the barricade. "There's one, maybe two inside that would have a chance. The other six..."

He trails off, shakes his head. It's not a mercy, to doom someone to die choking on their own blood with the faintest promise of salvation or if they survive that against all odds, give them a handful of years before the duties of a Warden overcome them. The Joining is a risk. Even the best candidates in that room may die of it, nevermind those who are already weakened and infirm. And even through the window, Ellis had seen those who were so young—

No. It wouldn't be a mercy for them.

"We shouldn't risk either of you in that house," Ellis continues, eyes moving from Lucien to Edgard. "Not unless we want to gamble with the pair of you falling to the same illness."

Too easy in a closed space for an accident, the kind that happens so quickly no one realizes the gravity of it until afterwards. Too easy to end up in a position where they have this conversation again, but about one of their number.

Edited (sry for edit) 2020-08-25 16:50 (UTC)

"He's right," Teren says, nodding to Lucien and Edgard (and technically Vance, who she doesn't know is a Warden yet), "you lot ought to keep a distance."
To Ellis, she shrugs, but lowers her voice. "Either they die here or they die later. I say give them the choice, as they've had none in this."

To describe her tone as tender would be a grievous overstatement, but there's still something about the situation that is visibly quite personal.

Though he'd like to argue, Lucien quails at the thought of falling prey to the Taint himself. He'd been barely twenty at the start of the Fifth Blight, but what he saw left an impression.

"D'accord."

Edgard would also like to argue and so he does.

"No." He says. "I should help. Aren't we all at risk simply being here?"

He will not be shut out and he will not be useless, yet again.

From the corner of his eyes, Ellis shifts. Edgard bristles. Vance runs some invisible odds: Joining talk can wait.

"I need you out here," He brushes past Teren, Ellis; throws back a look that says this discussion isn't over, "Said you knew the area?"

There's maybe a foot and a half, maybe more, between him and the Orlesians. Hard to get someone on your level like that. Tries for it anyway, tugging down the air on gesture:

"These folks all got names. Stories." Last words. He beckons to Lucien, you too. "Might be family wants to hear them. One of you got paper?"

Edited 2020-08-26 06:23 (UTC)

Whatever the outcome, whatever is offered to these people, this is the end of their lives. Vance's instincts are right, offering some last kindness.

It is more than many people receive in the wake of a darkspawn attack.

"There's more than one way to help," Ellis says, quieter. "There's no call for you to make an unnecessary sacrifice here."

Then it is, at least, decided that they will try talking first. Watching the negotiations with the Orlesians for a moment, Teren sighs through her nose and steps up to peer in the window, sizing up the house's inhabitants.

"If we clear this door to talk proper, can we trust you not to be fools about it?" she asks the nearest person, and she seems satisfied by the reply.

Edited (I can't read) 2020-08-26 17:45 (UTC)

Lucien nods to Vance. Yes, he has paper, in the form of his travel journal, which he fetches from a pouch on his belt. Frowning down at it, he speaks quietly to Edgard, hoping for a little discretion from his countryman.

"You should not be so eager to put them to the sword, mon frère. You are toeing a fine line."

Far better to put themselves to use in service of their memory than their demise.

Edgard understands probably better than the Chevalier realizes and shakes his head. He wasn’t careful enough before and won’t see the same thing happen again.

“You misunderstand, I don’t want them to die, I want others to live. You can do that,” he gestures toward the paper. “I’m no good with people. I’m staying here.” He raises the volume so the others will hear. “to help.”

He waits to see how the others will proceed.

"Yeah? You want to make this about you?" His voice shifts, hard. "You're no good with people, but you want to be the last thing a dying girl sees?"

He steps back, shakes his head.

"Figured better of you."

Edited (dreamwidth ate my spacing) 2020-08-27 23:44 (UTC)

"This argument serves no one in that house. All it does is delay an end to their suffering," Ellis bites out, eyes on Edgard. "How does ignoring the word of three Wardens help? We have seen all of this before, and we will see it again and again until we are dead. We know the way through it."

What of those people inside, some begging for death, others flinching away from it? It complicates everything for them to hear this argument. It will make whatever happens when the barricade is cleared away harder to bear.

"I am sorry for your pain, but your decision to indulge it delays our business here and it cannot continue."

In the tone of it will not continue.

"If you lot are quite finished, I-- three?"

Completely pivoting from her original statement, Teren suddenly stops and looks at Ellis, then around at each of the men in her company.

Well it certainly isn't Lucien. And it obviously isn't Edgard. By process of elimination...

Useless, you're nothing, weak is ringing in Edgard's ears who stopped listening the second after Ellis scolded him. (Thus missing the critical point)

He breathes deep fighting the impulse to leave, to run, to get away. He balls his fists, breathes again, releases them.

He doesn't respond to his companions, but he stands his ground and doesn't move a muscle.

Vance breathes, turns toward to the house.

One final look to Edgard: The Orlesian's Stone-still, seems ready to haul off on whoever's nearest. A far cry from the man in the dining hall (a shaky laugh and shakier hands).

Something to think on. After, once this is seen through and they've all got space to talk. You said you knew the area,

"You gotta be honest with them," Is all the answer Teren's going to get — a conversation picked smoothly back up, his agreement shifting upon the axis of choice. "If everyone takes it, we can't control a group that big. Someone spooks and,"

An illustrative little twist of his brow. They can't chase ghouls into the next unblighted town. He stoops, begins moving pieces of the barricade. It won't be long work.

Edgard's silence is enough for the moment to recenter the conversation, but not enough for Ellis to shift from where he's positioned himself between Edgard and the door. When he looks at Vance, it's with Edgard in his periphery.

"Aye," he agrees. "Anyone who doesn't want it should be taken aside straight off."

Taken aside.

There is some lurking objection, whether or not it's a kindness to put someone through the calling when they all know they're a poor candidate. But at the least they can all agree on this: to spare both groups the sight of each other's deaths.

Her gaze locking briefly on Vance, Teren narrows her eyes: this conversation isn't over, but there are more pressing matters at hand.

"They agreed not to run," she says with a nod to Ellis, bending to begin assisting Vance with the barricade, "so let's keep this peaceful like, not frighten them off all willy-nilly the moment they come out."

While Vance and Teren work on the barricade, Lucien approaches the window through which they'd been speaking to the poor unfortunate souls within. He keeps his voice quiet, sympathetic, as he asks after their names. Yannick, Cyrille, Dany, Sasha-Rose, Amour — Oh, really? My middle name is Amour. Perhaps within you too beats the heart of a Chevalier. — Hyacinthe, Yves, and...another Yannic, spelled differently. Childhood friends, apparently. The span of ages doesn't ease the tragedy of that fact; it merely adds to it.

Edgard watches the others discussing and Lucien talking to the people. Somehow, despite his protests, despite his stubbornness, he is sitting here again observing while others to the real work. His insides break and roil.

Something inside him is boiling and he closes his eyes trying to tame it, not entirely able to pin down or name exactly what it is. Should he speak again? Try and make them understand? Or will he just watch things go to ruin as they always do?

Edgard lifts his head, now watching and listening closely, but remains quite still.

They promised not to run, as if promises are worth so very much —

But he bites his tongue. The work takes it out of him: Busy hands and busier lungs, until the lot of them have dragged the door clear. Until they're inside.

They speak Trade. A blessing, with only Lucien beside the window; a rolling hum of words (please, mistake, I'm not), harmonized with some creature deep beneath the earth. There is more than one way, to hear things in dreams.

The tall man — the killer — draws taller when they enter. In better days, he must have been a terror, and it rides him now; shoulders pinned at all angles of harm. His lips curl over pale gum. There is a tightness in his eyes.

The hunting woman is less gaunt. Something still breathes in the rise and fall of her chest, of her expression. She hesitates to step before him.

Anticipation,

"Get out," He spits. "I told you to burn it. Don’t you know what you’re doing?"

"Hyacinthe." She cautions. A hand splays, catches itself again, fingers curling. The veins upon it streak grey. "Please,"

She lowers her voice, as something stirs from the dim room behind.

"We heard you outside. There’s a child —"

"Isn’t this grim enough for them?" Hyacinthe snarls over her. "Voyeurs. Run it home to Nevarra, to the mountains, run and,"

Tiny fingers grip the wall’s side. Fumble for purchase. The boy can't be more than ten, pupils wide and glassy,

And he runs.

Edited 2020-09-07 03:53 (UTC)

Edgard doesn’t hesitate. The bow is armed already in his hands before he’s even decided. It’s steady and strong. He’s the only one in position to do what needs to be done.

With an inhale, he watches the boy run. Trying not to think of what this child’s life could be. Trying not to think of the fear he must feel. He’s an innocent, yes, but it takes just one mistake. One hesitation.

Edgard doesn’t hesitate. A twitch of the finger to release. The arrow appears in the boy’s back and he stops, staggers. He turns and his wide eyes meet Edgard’s, arrow peeking out through the chest. The boy drops, limp. A vice grips Edgard’s own chest. Muffled screams surround him as he lowers his bow.

It was the right call, the only choice. A mercy. Edgard feels a ripping inside him, but remains stone still.

Of course, the child runs.

This has been poorly done. Ellis doesn't say as much, but the sentiment is written in his face when he looks at Teren. Their task will be harder now, already made difficult by the argument that had preceded the decision to entertain discussion.

"Lucien, would you and Edgard take that lad to the pyre?" Ellis asks quickly, even as he draws out his mace, steps to close the space of the doorway. The shock will wear off, and there will be anger, grief, argument from those in that room. Better to stall against it, even if Ellis would have done this any other way if he could. A melody is beating in the back of his head, bubbling like a tension headache that won't be ignored as he looks from Teren to Vance.

"If you're making an offer, we need to go in and close the door behind us."

These people had deserved something more gentle than this. What they can do now is end the argument, and the kindest way Ellis can think to do that is give Edgard something to do elsewhere.

"Maker's fucking breath!" Teren snarls, somewhere between the child running and Edgard shooting them. She turns quickly on the remaining civilians, a blade in each hand and a caustic glance to Ellis, daring him to blame her.

"Move back," she snaps at the people in the house, making her way in and fully prepared to kill anyone else who tries to flee, "we're going to want some bloody civility in all this, so if any of you makes a move on me you'll find out what happens."

A child is dead, runs in the back of her mind, but she tries not to let it show in her eyes; the child had the Taint, they would have died anyway. It was merciful to kill them.

There's no mercy in any of this.

"You've got a choice," she continues in a low, grim voice, as sympathetic as such a sharp-edged person can muster, "you die here, now, or you come with me and die later, how much later still to be determined."

In an instant, it's done. In an instant, a child is dead in the street.

Even if it was the right thing to do, the only thing they could do, it's a tragedy. There's nothing that can change that.

Lucien is moving even before Ellis bids it, closing the distance between himself and the body and kneeling beside it. Gloved hands grip the arrow jutting out of the child's back and snap the shaft, severing it so that once he turns the body over, Lucien can remove the other half of it. As he does so, Lucien speaks softly under his breath. Apology and prayer, regret and...what hope is there to offer? That he is free of pain?

The boy's arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes closed as is customary, and Lucien lifts him gently, carefully.

To Edgard, then: "Viens."

Edgard obeys and follows. His eyes are fixed on the boy. He doesn't see much else.

It will be easier, much easier, to push it down and not confront it.

He trails behind Lucien and doesn't say a word.

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pittance - 2020-09-09 05:48 (UTC) - Expand

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cw dead kids here on out

Re: cw dead kids here on out

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