Post by Ian (Menace) on May 3, 2020 0:11:26 GMT
The days are getting longer. Winter has passed, and the shadow of last year’s troubles are lifting from the citizens of Port Ffirst, making room for new difficulties to befall them. Or maybe, they are the same troubles that keep come knocking; like unloved relatives, smiling, sometimes filled with warmth, sometimes with scorn; but always false, always out for themselves: The gambling cousin, come for a loan; the haughty sister, parading her husband’s accomplishments; or the long-lost brother, come to reclaim his rightful seat at the table…
Menace sits at his small desk in the private room of the Cavernous Seashank he rents, part bedroom, part office. Stacks of papers, reports, contracts and bills are arranged on the desk, the bed, in a semi-circle on the floor. He has thrown himself into his work ever since his return from the war in K’ul Goran, and the traumatic confrontation with the Revenant. But while wounds heal, the scars remain. Awkward questions have been gnawing at him, doubts swirling in his mind that the work cannot fully subdue. Did Baal’s cleaver change him? Did it make him butcher the drunk in Daring, or the Shunned straggler in Nrav’Garat? Or had this lust for violence always been there, bubbling under the surface, just looking for a valve to release it? The questions gnaw at him - and the presence of Malice serves as a constant reminder.
“Just because I can't get you to leave me alone doesn't mean I have to acknowledge you.”
Oh yeah? And what are you doing right now?
“Working.”
By talking to yourself? Very professional.
“Don’t you sass me.”
Don't hide. Don't deny it. The Cleaver did not make you do anything you didn't already have in you. That drunk in the alley? He deserved it. Damn racist that would have done you in if you had given him the chance. You were just faster. Smarter. Better.
“And the Revenant that arose from his corpse? How did that help me? You just make everything worse.”
Noone could have known that that drunk had the willpower to manifest as a Revenant. It had nothing to do with the Cleaver, or you for that matter. Any other poor sod that you have encountered on your travels and who raised a weapon against you could have been him. It's the cost of doing business, as you like to say.
“It was murder.”
Yeah, right. And the cultists you knifed in K’ul Goran? Murdered. But that’s ok, because it is in service to a higher purpose? A mission?? Don't make me laugh. Face it - there is no clear line that divides good violence from bad. It’s all murder. Equally noble and vile, depending on who you are asking. Your friends? All murderers, one and all! The universe doesn't give a shit. So why should you? As long as it serves your purpose.
“Oh, fuck you! I know what I did, but I don't have to like it. I will have my revenge on the Lenoirs, but I don't need to climb over a pile of corpses to get there. When I am ready, and I get to draw my knife across their throats, it will be retribution - not murder.”
You are fooling nobody.
“Oh yeah? Well, if you know better make yourself useful. I have a lot of work to do, and you aren't helping. You never do.”
I help you to survive. Don't forget that. Those years on the streets - remember those? You wouldn't have survived then without me. The priests may have offered a hot meal and a lesson here and there, but they couldn't protect you. I did.
Father and mother were gone. Uncle Solus more of a threat than the bullies on the street. Don't you dare forget who kept you going. Who gave you the strength. The will to make it!
“It wasn't all you… I had other help. I had a family.”
You did. But later. And look what your smarts have done for them? Your silver tongue? What do they have to show for it? Oooh, that's right… a shallow grave!
“Don't you dare put that on me! It was them! Soros and Voros who killed them all! But I will have my vengeance! They will pay for what they did!!”
They did.
They will.
And I will help you. Like I helped you that night, and all the nights since then, to survive. As I always have. You are me, and I am you. Brothers.
Careful. Company.
“Evening boss. Just dropping off today’s earnings. The warehouse is fully fixed up, inventory accounted for, and the men just finished loading up the last shipment. All’s in order.”
He is lying to you, that weasley son of a bitch, Malice whispering in his mind, teach him a lesson! Take his ear off! That’ll teach him!
“Good, good. I tell you, we are making good progress. Please give my regards to Heather and the kids…”
“Just one thing… Where is the money from the second shipment?”
“Sorry, slipped my mind. Must be getting old. Won't happen again boss.”
Stab him! Stab him now!!
“It better not. Remember where you came from, Ishmael. Remember that it was me who offered you a second chance, and has given your wife and kids a roof over their heads, and bellies full of food. Remember that I know where they sleep at night. But most of all, remember never to steal from me.”
You place too much trust in this man. Better to be rid of him. This is a problem waiting to happen, and that can be swiftly solved now - with a blade between the third and fourth rib.
“No. We are doing this my way.”