"The problem with you plan is that if town is killed off there will be no one to come after us. New Haven will die and the Drow will take the land for their own. You were actually doing the work of the Drow."
"Has the voice gotten quieter now that you have crossed over? Did you send any of the the wicked to Noktal?"
At this point, Kannoth had leaned in. His nosiness had gotten the best of him, and he could not help and interject a comment that intentionally added to Kodruck's final sentence.
"Or me. Or Torben. Or Lox. Or Cannonball. Or ... Rowan..."
“I... a little. Not enough...” he raises a hand to the side of his head, touching his ear.
”It was never my duty to ask... but every time the Knights refused to act, the Drow gained power from their inaction. Rowan was the only one who tried to do anything about Rothe.”
"So I deserved to die for action taken or not take before I was a part of the Knights? There are people who come here every month cause they have no where else to go. Have come here to escape the Drow, to be safe if even for a few hours. You took that from them, you decided that they deserve to die cause they happened to be in New Haven on that night. How is that any better than the Drow? Your actions were without direction or goal, you just wanted people to die. Explain to me how that is right."
After taking a breath and realizing that he had turned on Zyvian with raised voice, "Sorry. I let emotion get to me."
"Ebrahim, you and I will never agree on the Knights and how we act in this world, and that is fine, we do not seek your approval, but this shine belongs to New Haven due to the efforts of Ta'Lina. She is sweet and caring, she just wants to live and help people. She hold a tea party every month that all are invited to. Why did you attack her, why did she deserve to die?"
Listening to the words from Zyvian, Ebrahim hangs his head. “I didn’t want everyone to get hurt. I... I was just listening. I didn’t want to hurt anyone who was innocent... but I had to do something. It was too loud, I had to listen. Father always said that was how to make it quieter.”
At the tavern entrance, some clunking could be heard, as a disheveled red headed elf hobbled in on some wooden crutches. Once inside, she looked around and blew a curl out of her face.
"Oh! Hey guys. What's goin' on in here?"
Rowan smirked in the way that she does, she may have been a little loopy though from some medicine Doc V had given her earlier. Her left knee was in a cast.
Katesh was about to snap back at Kordruk, but when Zyvian continues speaking for Ebrahim, she bites her tongue and holds it. The moment that Ebrahim, with Zyvian's voice, mentions his father, her right hand jerks oddly and then snaps back to her side, clutching at the folds of her skirt. For one wild instant, she'd forgotten he was gone, and was nearly overcome with the desire to seize the grehlok's hand - to give him whatever small measure of comfort she could, relayed through Zyvian. She makes no sound. Her eyes are bright, but dry.
Ro’an had been aimlessly wandering around New Haven since the early morning. He had been unable to sleep. Simply tossing and turning. He felt restless, listless. His thoughts seemed almost foggy, he felt disconnected from himself, he had not even noticed the sun had risen while he was walking. Suddenly yelling, screaming, crashing, and things being broken erupting from the tavern woke Ro’an from his odd stupor. Finding himself next to the tavern Ro’an feared another undead attack like the one he heard about after returning from watch over the weekend.
Creeping as silently as he could Ro’an slipped in the side door of the tavern prepared for a fight, but finding none. He watched as Aleena stormed out of the front of the tavern speaking a language he was sure he had never heard. Who was she yelling at? Why?
Taking in his surroundings Ro’an begins to feel a chill creep up his spine and throughout his body. The hair on his arms begin to stand on end. His black tipped ears twitch ever so slightly trying in vain to perceive the source of the feeling. Ro’an’s eyes grow wide, but he only sees those gathered in the tavern going about their business. Then something about the feeling changes like a wind blowing over him the chill dissipates, transforming into something familiar.
“A friend?” He sort of murmurs to himself not understanding his own intuition. Confused, Ro’an sits down at one of the tables along the right side of the tavern in the back as not to disturb the ritual going on in the front of the tavern. Deciding, until he better understands what is going on, to sit quietly and observe.
A very tired Ilyas walks into the tavern. He is soaked in sweat and dust and the detritus of a long patrol, one that apparently went in the wrong direction. He bears a look of confused concern at the apparent carnage of the battle still scattered about the tavern. He approaches Kannoth, with a request of a drink and a plea to know what happened while he was on watch. "Who died, how many? What happened here?"
"Ebrahim, you and I would never have seen eye to eye on how to handle things, even if we saw the same problems. Your actions have led to death and distrust in this town, you are a troubled soul and a broken man I fear. I do truly hope that you find peace in the afterlife that you could not find here, but do not come back to New Haven for you are not going to be welcomed here and your death will be quick and with out mercy. Three men died this weekend, a hero, a villian, and a lost soul. May your eldest sort you correctly."
Turning to Zyvian, "Sister let us go, other wish to speak with Ebrahim and I for one have nothing left to ask him."
Looking at Katesh, " As I said if you wish to speak please find me and I will do my best to listen to you."
With that Kordruk would walk away heavier for this chat, approaching Rowan and Ro'an. "one of you needs a new name." said with a smile, ad walking on to retrieve Wren from outside and send her back to sit vigil with Ebrahim and act as a speaker for the dead.
A less tired Wren saunters back into the tavern. She takes note of all the new people in the tavern and ruffles Ro’ans hair as she passes. She kneels back behind the shrine once again and takes a minute to perform her ritual. Wren turns to face the apparition of Ebrahim.
“I heard raised voices. Did anything else get thrown?”
Rowan hobbled over to Kannoth, the sound of wood on wood as her crutches tapped the tavern floor. She listened to whatever was being said, but made no remarks towards any of it yet. She was still trying to figure out what was going on, and what all she missed when she had gone into a coma during the last watch.
Ithl appears, almost from nowhere. A keen eye could have seen him slip out from under the table nearest the shrines. Smelling of blood and booze, he stumbles over to Wren.
“Please, tell Ebrahim that it is time to move on. You did your best, which is all we can do. Rest and let Noktal guide you home.”
He paused, wanting to add more but could not find the right words. Ithl turned to the rest of the tavern seeing that Aleena’s earlier fit had drawn a few people to the tavern and many others were now getting breakfast as usual. He spoke clearly with intent and a hint of sorrow.
“We mustn’t blame Ebrahim for his misguided wrong-doings. We must not let the sins of the dead be how we remember them. Baph and Ebrahim both did what they thought was right for New Haven. Both have paid the price. I did not know Ebrahim well. I had heard many stories of his deeds. But those stories do not reflect the man I did know. I knew him as an Intelligent and Clever man. He was a man who looked past his own troubles in order to help others. It does us no good to scold the dead. We have all done wrong. If you died today, here, now, how would you like to be remembered? By your foulest of deeds? or by your fondest of memories! Rothe, Baph, Ebrahim, and others. We all deserve to be remembered at our best."
Ithl paused again and took a swig of an orange liquid from a bottle that he had been carrying. The Pirate then removed his hat and placed a coin on the shrine next to the hourglass and then moved next to Kannoth and Rowan.
Ro’an watches Kodruck finish his questioning now understanding that somehow he is sensing Ebrahim’s spirit. He laughs to himself with Kodruck’s comment about his and Rowan’s name. Then a strange swirling feeling begins to grow in the pit of his stomach to the point of almost making him nauseated. Lightheadedness overtakes him and Ro’an begins to feel tears well up within. However before being able to truly process the moment Ro’an‘s focus is broken as he is surprised by Wren ruffling his hair as she goes by. He smiles to himself. The lightheadedness abates some.
Ro’an stands wiping his eyes clear and cautiously moves closer. Towards the middle of the tavern where a water pitcher sits. Ro’an grabs the water pitcher and pours himself some water into a cup sitting on the table. Taking a seat at the new table, Ro’an sips the water trying to gather his thoughts.
Not quite sure if he knew the pirate, but Ro’an found himself agreeing with the pirate. Softly and somewhat timidly, “I did not know Ebrahim well, but I find myself agreeing with the pirate. The dead deserve at least some solemn respect from the living despite their deeds. I was not here and did not see what Ebrahim did, but despite his actions we should try and respect his spirit for however long it is here.”
Ro’an looks shyly around the tavern hoping his comment is well received.
Wren sips from her coffee. “I’m one of the handful that both can and will. And a lonely spirit creates an angry spirit. I wouldn’t wish that on any one.“
The ghost hangs his head, still addressing Wren, the only one who can hear him now aside from the visiting Alaniel. "Then you just don't want me to become angry? You do not have to show me false sympathy, you know. I understand why people hate me. I do not blame them."
As people came into the tavern, Imrie had moved in closer to the shrine enough to hear those who were speaking with Ebrahim but not close enough for anyone to take note. She had never really known Ebrahim as he never seemed to come to Everdusk where she spent most of her time in the tavern, but she had heard stories as any good tavern keeper would.
She watched and listened as people came and went. Aleena's outrage, Percy's song, Kannoth's uncharacteristic not as cheerful as usual demeanor. She had seen Silas enter the tavern and thought she had heard something from behind his mask, he had acted like he didn't care about Baph's death the night before, but she knew that that flask didn't contain water.
She took particular note to the conversation between Korduck and Ebrahim, and particularly Katesh's responses, trying to put all the pieces together as to what happened that led Ebrahim to bring the troll.
After his comment, Kannoth's left brow rose at Rowan's voice. Perhaps because he was one part percussionist, and one part paranoid, the bard had a tendency to try and memorize the cadence and sound of an individuals' footsteps. It was partially a game, but he found amassing a number of identifying qualities helped him remember people and make up for the fact he was miserable with names.
He had grown accustomed to Rowan's long, graceful, yet silent and padded footfalls, but the accompaniment of the crutch was alien to him. His mind made a quick note.
His shoulders softened. His arms became uncrossed. And he became disinterested in the unfolding of the corner. Afterall, the cold draft was at this point well done away with. Kannoth smirked to himself at the thought that once the fire was woken from its ashen slumber, and the tavern filled with its warmth, the number of the tavern's visitors grew. That horrid night—and the cold draft—seemed behind them now.
Kannoth spun on a heel of his boot, sending the assortments on his person dancing about in a twirl. He stopped to face Rowan's voice. At first, he smirked the usual and unique way he had whenever he saw the red haired knight. He opened his mouth to say one thing, but then changed direction mid breath by pointing at her leg and raising his brow even higher.
"... Fox friend, what happened to your leg?" His voice was one part concern, and one part curiosity.
He then sharply remembered some parable mama Eldanar likely told him about manners, and with a hare-like hop he moved to her side, and offered a bent arm to aid her to his usual table.
Upon arriving, their company grew. Second came the disheveled and travel-worn Ilyas. Without skipping a beat, Kannoth smiled with a characteristic and overly-excited way, and patted an empty seat for him at the table. He then pushed one of the two drinks that remained untouched that he prepared earlier, signaling for his friend to consume it.
“I wish I could answer your question, Friend. I got, uhhh, distracted from watch last night. From what I heard, Alabaster came to town with several immortals and scores of undead horrors. The town was on the cusp of defeat, and then Ebrahim showed up with a troll and directed it to attack New Haveners. It proved too much for those who remained, and the town was defeated. Dozens died and many burned soul shards. Baph gave his last shard up to save the town. A sad day. As for the mess, that was the Inilian Priestess who had entered earlier and gave some spirit in the corner near the Eldest shrines—who I believe to be the troll-sending Ebrahim—a piece of her mind (and an assortment of thrown cutlery and pumpkin parts). Individuals are now pressing the spirit for answers, but it doesn’t seem to provide any worth excusing the murderous and mad behavior.”
When his friend Cannonball joined them, Kannoth again gave the excited expression.
“It is good to see you Canononball! Mother Tavern Protects… I was worried you were counted amount one of the fallen, however I was up all night carrying bodies and I don’t recall seeing you among them. Or you. Many of my friends did not fare so well…”
The bard still held the red-haired lass tight at the arm, and was rather adamant she take a seat with him.
“Where were all of you last night? What happened?”
"The problem with you plan is that if town is killed off there will be no one to come after us. New Haven will die and the Drow will take the land for their own. You were actually doing the work of the Drow."
"Has the voice gotten quieter now that you have crossed over? Did you send any of the the wicked to Noktal?"
"Ebrahim, explain to me why I deserved to die."
At this point, Kannoth had leaned in. His nosiness had gotten the best of him, and he could not help and interject a comment that intentionally added to Kodruck's final sentence. "Or me. Or Torben. Or Lox. Or Cannonball. Or ... Rowan..."
“I... a little. Not enough...” he raises a hand to the side of his head, touching his ear.
”It was never my duty to ask... but every time the Knights refused to act, the Drow gained power from their inaction. Rowan was the only one who tried to do anything about Rothe.”
"So I deserved to die for action taken or not take before I was a part of the Knights? There are people who come here every month cause they have no where else to go. Have come here to escape the Drow, to be safe if even for a few hours. You took that from them, you decided that they deserve to die cause they happened to be in New Haven on that night. How is that any better than the Drow? Your actions were without direction or goal, you just wanted people to die. Explain to me how that is right."
After taking a breath and realizing that he had turned on Zyvian with raised voice, "Sorry. I let emotion get to me."
"Ebrahim, you and I will never agree on the Knights and how we act in this world, and that is fine, we do not seek your approval, but this shine belongs to New Haven due to the efforts of Ta'Lina. She is sweet and caring, she just wants to live and help people. She hold a tea party every month that all are invited to. Why did you attack her, why did she deserve to die?"
Listening to the words from Zyvian, Ebrahim hangs his head. “I didn’t want everyone to get hurt. I... I was just listening. I didn’t want to hurt anyone who was innocent... but I had to do something. It was too loud, I had to listen. Father always said that was how to make it quieter.”
At the tavern entrance, some clunking could be heard, as a disheveled red headed elf hobbled in on some wooden crutches. Once inside, she looked around and blew a curl out of her face. "Oh! Hey guys. What's goin' on in here?"
Rowan smirked in the way that she does, she may have been a little loopy though from some medicine Doc V had given her earlier. Her left knee was in a cast.
Katesh was about to snap back at Kordruk, but when Zyvian continues speaking for Ebrahim, she bites her tongue and holds it. The moment that Ebrahim, with Zyvian's voice, mentions his father, her right hand jerks oddly and then snaps back to her side, clutching at the folds of her skirt. For one wild instant, she'd forgotten he was gone, and was nearly overcome with the desire to seize the grehlok's hand - to give him whatever small measure of comfort she could, relayed through Zyvian. She makes no sound. Her eyes are bright, but dry.
Ro’an had been aimlessly wandering around New Haven since the early morning. He had been unable to sleep. Simply tossing and turning. He felt restless, listless. His thoughts seemed almost foggy, he felt disconnected from himself, he had not even noticed the sun had risen while he was walking. Suddenly yelling, screaming, crashing, and things being broken erupting from the tavern woke Ro’an from his odd stupor. Finding himself next to the tavern Ro’an feared another undead attack like the one he heard about after returning from watch over the weekend.
Creeping as silently as he could Ro’an slipped in the side door of the tavern prepared for a fight, but finding none. He watched as Aleena stormed out of the front of the tavern speaking a language he was sure he had never heard. Who was she yelling at? Why?
Taking in his surroundings Ro’an begins to feel a chill creep up his spine and throughout his body. The hair on his arms begin to stand on end. His black tipped ears twitch ever so slightly trying in vain to perceive the source of the feeling. Ro’an’s eyes grow wide, but he only sees those gathered in the tavern going about their business. Then something about the feeling changes like a wind blowing over him the chill dissipates, transforming into something familiar.
“A friend?” He sort of murmurs to himself not understanding his own intuition. Confused, Ro’an sits down at one of the tables along the right side of the tavern in the back as not to disturb the ritual going on in the front of the tavern. Deciding, until he better understands what is going on, to sit quietly and observe.
A very tired Ilyas walks into the tavern. He is soaked in sweat and dust and the detritus of a long patrol, one that apparently went in the wrong direction. He bears a look of confused concern at the apparent carnage of the battle still scattered about the tavern. He approaches Kannoth, with a request of a drink and a plea to know what happened while he was on watch. "Who died, how many? What happened here?"
"Ebrahim, you and I would never have seen eye to eye on how to handle things, even if we saw the same problems. Your actions have led to death and distrust in this town, you are a troubled soul and a broken man I fear. I do truly hope that you find peace in the afterlife that you could not find here, but do not come back to New Haven for you are not going to be welcomed here and your death will be quick and with out mercy. Three men died this weekend, a hero, a villian, and a lost soul. May your eldest sort you correctly."
Turning to Zyvian, "Sister let us go, other wish to speak with Ebrahim and I for one have nothing left to ask him."
Looking at Katesh, " As I said if you wish to speak please find me and I will do my best to listen to you."
With that Kordruk would walk away heavier for this chat, approaching Rowan and Ro'an. "one of you needs a new name." said with a smile, ad walking on to retrieve Wren from outside and send her back to sit vigil with Ebrahim and act as a speaker for the dead.
A less tired Wren saunters back into the tavern. She takes note of all the new people in the tavern and ruffles Ro’ans hair as she passes. She kneels back behind the shrine once again and takes a minute to perform her ritual. Wren turns to face the apparition of Ebrahim.
“I heard raised voices. Did anything else get thrown?”
Rowan hobbled over to Kannoth, the sound of wood on wood as her crutches tapped the tavern floor. She listened to whatever was being said, but made no remarks towards any of it yet. She was still trying to figure out what was going on, and what all she missed when she had gone into a coma during the last watch.
Ithl appears, almost from nowhere. A keen eye could have seen him slip out from under the table nearest the shrines. Smelling of blood and booze, he stumbles over to Wren.
“Please, tell Ebrahim that it is time to move on. You did your best, which is all we can do. Rest and let Noktal guide you home.”
He paused, wanting to add more but could not find the right words. Ithl turned to the rest of the tavern seeing that Aleena’s earlier fit had drawn a few people to the tavern and many others were now getting breakfast as usual. He spoke clearly with intent and a hint of sorrow.
“We mustn’t blame Ebrahim for his misguided wrong-doings. We must not let the sins of the dead be how we remember them. Baph and Ebrahim both did what they thought was right for New Haven. Both have paid the price. I did not know Ebrahim well. I had heard many stories of his deeds. But those stories do not reflect the man I did know. I knew him as an Intelligent and Clever man. He was a man who looked past his own troubles in order to help others. It does us no good to scold the dead. We have all done wrong. If you died today, here, now, how would you like to be remembered? By your foulest of deeds? or by your fondest of memories! Rothe, Baph, Ebrahim, and others. We all deserve to be remembered at our best."
Ithl paused again and took a swig of an orange liquid from a bottle that he had been carrying. The Pirate then removed his hat and placed a coin on the shrine next to the hourglass and then moved next to Kannoth and Rowan.
Ro’an watches Kodruck finish his questioning now understanding that somehow he is sensing Ebrahim’s spirit. He laughs to himself with Kodruck’s comment about his and Rowan’s name. Then a strange swirling feeling begins to grow in the pit of his stomach to the point of almost making him nauseated. Lightheadedness overtakes him and Ro’an begins to feel tears well up within. However before being able to truly process the moment Ro’an‘s focus is broken as he is surprised by Wren ruffling his hair as she goes by. He smiles to himself. The lightheadedness abates some.
Ro’an stands wiping his eyes clear and cautiously moves closer. Towards the middle of the tavern where a water pitcher sits. Ro’an grabs the water pitcher and pours himself some water into a cup sitting on the table. Taking a seat at the new table, Ro’an sips the water trying to gather his thoughts.
Not quite sure if he knew the pirate, but Ro’an found himself agreeing with the pirate. Softly and somewhat timidly, “I did not know Ebrahim well, but I find myself agreeing with the pirate. The dead deserve at least some solemn respect from the living despite their deeds. I was not here and did not see what Ebrahim did, but despite his actions we should try and respect his spirit for however long it is here.”
Ro’an looks shyly around the tavern hoping his comment is well received.
Ebrahim turns to Wren as she returns, still clear in his eyes from the ritual.
“No, I do not think so,“ he says. ”But I am not sure. They did not throw anything at me, at least.”
The spirit pauses, then asks “May I ask you a question? Why are you speaking to me? You do not have to, and I am not causing trouble.“
Wren sips from her coffee. “I’m one of the handful that both can and will. And a lonely spirit creates an angry spirit. I wouldn’t wish that on any one.“
The ghost hangs his head, still addressing Wren, the only one who can hear him now aside from the visiting Alaniel. "Then you just don't want me to become angry? You do not have to show me false sympathy, you know. I understand why people hate me. I do not blame them."
As people came into the tavern, Imrie had moved in closer to the shrine enough to hear those who were speaking with Ebrahim but not close enough for anyone to take note. She had never really known Ebrahim as he never seemed to come to Everdusk where she spent most of her time in the tavern, but she had heard stories as any good tavern keeper would.
She watched and listened as people came and went. Aleena's outrage, Percy's song, Kannoth's uncharacteristic not as cheerful as usual demeanor. She had seen Silas enter the tavern and thought she had heard something from behind his mask, he had acted like he didn't care about Baph's death the night before, but she knew that that flask didn't contain water.
She took particular note to the conversation between Korduck and Ebrahim, and particularly Katesh's responses, trying to put all the pieces together as to what happened that led Ebrahim to bring the troll.
“I do have a question for you. How did You manage to get a troll?” Her head turns in curiosity.
After his comment, Kannoth's left brow rose at Rowan's voice. Perhaps because he was one part percussionist, and one part paranoid, the bard had a tendency to try and memorize the cadence and sound of an individuals' footsteps. It was partially a game, but he found amassing a number of identifying qualities helped him remember people and make up for the fact he was miserable with names.
He had grown accustomed to Rowan's long, graceful, yet silent and padded footfalls, but the accompaniment of the crutch was alien to him. His mind made a quick note.
His shoulders softened. His arms became uncrossed. And he became disinterested in the unfolding of the corner. Afterall, the cold draft was at this point well done away with. Kannoth smirked to himself at the thought that once the fire was woken from its ashen slumber, and the tavern filled with its warmth, the number of the tavern's visitors grew. That horrid night—and the cold draft—seemed behind them now.
Kannoth spun on a heel of his boot, sending the assortments on his person dancing about in a twirl. He stopped to face Rowan's voice. At first, he smirked the usual and unique way he had whenever he saw the red haired knight. He opened his mouth to say one thing, but then changed direction mid breath by pointing at her leg and raising his brow even higher.
"... Fox friend, what happened to your leg?" His voice was one part concern, and one part curiosity.
He then sharply remembered some parable mama Eldanar likely told him about manners, and with a hare-like hop he moved to her side, and offered a bent arm to aid her to his usual table.
Upon arriving, their company grew. Second came the disheveled and travel-worn Ilyas. Without skipping a beat, Kannoth smiled with a characteristic and overly-excited way, and patted an empty seat for him at the table. He then pushed one of the two drinks that remained untouched that he prepared earlier, signaling for his friend to consume it.
“I wish I could answer your question, Friend. I got, uhhh, distracted from watch last night. From what I heard, Alabaster came to town with several immortals and scores of undead horrors. The town was on the cusp of defeat, and then Ebrahim showed up with a troll and directed it to attack New Haveners. It proved too much for those who remained, and the town was defeated. Dozens died and many burned soul shards. Baph gave his last shard up to save the town. A sad day. As for the mess, that was the Inilian Priestess who had entered earlier and gave some spirit in the corner near the Eldest shrines—who I believe to be the troll-sending Ebrahim—a piece of her mind (and an assortment of thrown cutlery and pumpkin parts). Individuals are now pressing the spirit for answers, but it doesn’t seem to provide any worth excusing the murderous and mad behavior.”
When his friend Cannonball joined them, Kannoth again gave the excited expression.
“It is good to see you Canononball! Mother Tavern Protects… I was worried you were counted amount one of the fallen, however I was up all night carrying bodies and I don’t recall seeing you among them. Or you. Many of my friends did not fare so well…”
The bard still held the red-haired lass tight at the arm, and was rather adamant she take a seat with him.
“Where were all of you last night? What happened?”