Little bit of RP between Trager and I. I'm rusty as I haven't been able to RP much lately, so pls forgive the poor quality. @trager
might be interested.
You have emoted: Rashar wanders in quietly, moving towards Aithene and Trager as if bound for them. As he approaches, his head tilts back and his brows lift. "You had a concern," he says to his brother. "What was it?"
Trager turns to acknowledge you, tipping his head in an easy way before speaking. "I had a concern regarding some..." His eyes shift onto Ciri, one eyebrow raising up his forehead questioningly.
Aithene's shimmering eyes flick between you and Trager for a moment before she tilts her head to glance over her shoulder, looking at Ciri.
You have emoted: Rashar grunts, spending perhaps half a second considering Ciri before dismissing her as completely irrelevant and turning back to Trager. Lips pulled into a wry sort of smile, he waves for him to continue.
"Anyways," Trager continues, turning back towards you. "I have issue with a term of Aldric's return," he finishes simply.
You have emoted: Seemingly surprised, Rashar settles his hands on his hips and asks, "Eh? Which one?"
"We spoke about this, didn't we?" Aithene asks Trager lightly and as her hands lift to rub at her arms, as if she is cold.
Serrice squirms, frowning, an expression of general annoyance at nothing in particular overtaking her.
"The one where Aldric is to burn," Trager rumbles out nonetheless, Aithene's words gone unheeded or ignored. "Since when is a man held to burn by the Firebug over transgression to the city?"
You have emoted: Rashar considers Trager for a long time, dark eyes unreadable. The hands lift from his hips, sliding with ease into the pockets they so frequently visit, and the shadow-skinned Idreth offers a quiet, "Mm," even as he tilts his head. "And if the condition of his return were to be execution of another sort? Would your concern still exist, Trager?"
You have emoted: Rashar leans forward, ever so slightly. "Is your concern for the punishment, or for the Lady's part in it?"
A sullen stare is directed at the side of Trager's face from Aithene and she wrinkles her nose a little.
Trager returns the gaze, attempting to keep his features impassive. It does not work. A twitch appears at the corner of one eye, then again just a few seconds later. His shoulders tense forward, musculature tensing and releasing in a unrestrained fashion. "You know the answer to that," he finally grits out, dipping his head tightly. "How a city matter came into the hands of your Order.. It draws me to question."
"Why is Fire a weapon to be used against what is to be ours?" Trager adds quietly, the twitch at his eye growing more prominent.
"I -told- you," Aithene states, rather impatiently before huffing a breath out her nose, which is swiftly followed by a feminine grunt, "He asked to meet Her," she states before turning and just walking into the city, grumbling to herself in a fluent, airy language.
Serrice blinks slowly, watching the conversation between you and Trager with an undercurrent of discomfort whose source is unclear.
You have emoted: "It is not a matter of the Order," Rashar explains quietly, with no condescension, holding a hand up to give Aithene pause. He takes half a step forward, reaching out to take Trager's arm in one firm grip. "He left in fire, Trager. He burned the city down, killing innocent younglings who had not the supplies to cure themselves. It is fitting, I think, that his execution be delivered in appropriate fashion." His expression, so often dominated by that crooked half-smile, is serious but without aggression. "It was -my- idea, Trager. Not Hers. Not my Order's."
Aarbrok mutters as he passes by on the valley road, "Shops wont even take my coin...can't even look at things...." he seems slightly irritated, tapping the cobbles with force as he grunts loudly and steps with dejection.
Trager flinches at the contact as you takes hold of his arm, not of fear, but of a slowly growing anger that only causes the skin at the corners of his eyes to pinch tighter. "I do not believe that -Fire- is something that should be used on -Ours-," he growls out tightly. "If he wants to take Her path, so be it - but you c-.. You can't immolate a man out of a sense of poetic justice!"
You have emoted: "Yes," Rashar murmurs softly, "I can." He takes another heartbeat or two to study Trager's eyes, watching him with an intensely discerning gaze. Releasing him, he takes a step back. "I understand, Trager, where you stand. In this, the only difference between us is that the Fire is a thing you hate, now. Fear, even." His head tilts, that familiar look as if the Idreth is begging him to deny it. "She wronged you. She tried to destroy your life." He breathes out a sigh, and then a half-hearted grunt. "No one can fix that but Her, and it isn't my place to try. But the flame remains mine to wield, in Her name or the Beacon's."
Trager's features remain stock-still, though surely not without some extreme sense of effort on the Azudim part. "I w-.." Words fail him, and a heavy breath is taken in through his nose. He holds it, returning the gaze with one of his own, designed with an attempt to give up nothing. "I will not try and stop you." He releases the breath with the words, stepping back himself that creates more of a distance between the brothers. "But I will offer him an alternative." He places one hand on the blade at his waist. "As Lord Protector, appointed by your hand, he has the opportunity to be dealt death cleanly and quickly. -Without- the flesh melting off of his bones," he finishes pointedly, teeth clenched.
It's at this point where Serrice interjects, pointing out in her aristocratically accented contralto, "If you use wet wood for fuel, the smoke will likely render him unconscious before he can truly feel the heat of the flame."
You have emoted: Rashar considers it for a long, long time. Even as the first rays of dawn break over the horizon, the man offers a single, simple nod of his head. "As you like," he states, his voice quiet. And then, "And if he declines, you will watch. You will see him perish exactly as the youth of the city you now protect fell, so he could prove to Moirean his loyalty."
Trager visibly blanches at the response, the implications of your words settling wholly on his mind. A pained expression crosses his face as he moves forward suddenly, wrapping one hand around the base of your neck. He pulls, lightly, the Azudim's lips moving in to meet the Idreth's ear, the ensuing words dropping to something barely above throaty whisper. "I love you, brother. But in this moment I find myself loathing you more than any mortal in this world."
You have emoted: Rashar inclines his head and murmurs, "I know." His eyes have solidified, as dark now as two pieces of wet slate, and he makes no effort to resist Trager's grasp, or to pull away from it. "I know it, Trager. And I hope that when all is said and done, you understand why I am doing this." This time, the smile that lights across his face is void of humor. "You are the one that taught me to be hard, brother."
Trager holds the grasp there, his fingers tightening minutely at the back of your neck. Another attempt at words eludes him, and all he manages to give is a half-hearted grunt before he drops the embrace and backs away. A few backwards steps, and then he turns, leaving in a demented sort of hurry.
You have emoted: Rashar watches the man leave, and only now does a tinge of regret enter his visage. Silent is his sigh, but visible in the slow rise and slightly quicker fall of his shoulders. Flashing Serrice another humorless smile, the Idreth departs in silence.