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Winter of Storm and Shadow: Interlude #4
And What Good is Love? Victor walks purposefully through the camp barely acknowledging anyone he passes. Those who know him can tell there is a deep rage beneath the surface that threatens to emerge if toyed with, and so his people stay out of his way, allowing the rage to subside. If there were any color to be seen his cheeks it would be a fiery golden red. Here on the Plane of Shadow however, the tenseness of a cheek tells more about mood than its color. Llewddor stands waiting for his liege to approach. Beside him stand three battered Tymestl, their hands tied to a post behind their backs. For once, the lieutenant is glad he has abstained from any drinking this day. His jug is empty in any case and he would need to see the brewmaster before it could be filled again. As Victor approaches, Llewddor stands a little straighter and takes a small step out in front of the prisoners. Victor stops just short of the prisoners, his eyes locked on their bruises. "Are these the ones?" "Yes," Llewddor answers quietly. He steps to the side so Victor can get an unobstructed view. The three shadar-kai had been captured and their wounds healed to the point of no longer threatening their lives. However, each now sports bruises on their skin and small welts that look like a rash. "Tell me what you told my sister and on my pledge, you will be released." Victor looks straight at the Tymestl as he speaks. In response, two of them spit at him. Neither he nor Llewddor make a move to retaliate. Finally, the third shadar-kai nods his head. "I will tell you, as much good as it will do." The creature is missing its right ear. Looped into the crude stitches that hold the wound together are three metal circles. "You are a member of the Il'Korath?" Victor asks. The creature smiles and nods. "I am. I am the one who told your sister of the ruby-eyed stranger in our camps. The one who told us about the Brightlings and their tactics." "There now you have it. Give us death and be done with it." The pale prisoner finishes, its malevolent stare meeting Victor's unafraid. Victor shakes his head. "I promised you life." He motions for a few nearby guards to watch the prisoners as he moves off with Llewddor. After moving to where they cannot be heard, Victor speaks. "Have the certhori erase the memory of their time here. Then take them from here and release them as I promised." Llewddor frowns. "The Bone Druids are demanding more sacrifices." Victor shakes his head. "Nerull has had his fill for now. Release them and make sure our friends are prepared for their journey home." Llewddor stands there for a moment, seemingly on the verge of asking another question. At the last moment he decides against it and walks off to fulfill Victor's orders. Victor takes a deep breath and heads back into the camp himself. Before he is ready he stands outside his sister's tent. Hesitating for only an instant, Victor pushes past the flap and into the tent. Kneeling on the ground is Sierra, packing away a gauntlet of black metal. She looks up as he enters. Unconsciously her left hand begins massaging her right. On her hand Victor notices a rash similar to what he saw on the shadar-kai. "What insanity would cause you to inflict pain on yourself just to inflict pain on them? And since when did torture become a part of your strategy?" Victor's voice is under control but Sierra can sense the rage he is holding back. As she stands, Sierra raises an eyebrow. "I gave everything in the war: my honor; my dignity; my pride. And I learned that you cannot afford to hesitate and question the morality of every single act. It's what you have to do when you rule., I learned as well that punching someone in the face repeatedly has a cathartic affect on both the giver and the receiver." Suddenly Victor's anger is gone, replaced by a deep sadness. "Is there no love left in you? It's as powerful a healer as any potion. Let it flow through you once again sister." Sierra smiles, but it is bitter and there is no happiness behind it. "And what good is love? Love did not save us. Love is not going to win this war. Love only makes the bitter moments more bitter for the brief taste of paradise it provides." She stands solidly for a moment, face somber and hard when, suddenly, tears begin to flood down her face. She reaches out to her brother, pulling his forehead down to hers weeping softly. "Oh Victor, I needed your words sixteen years ago when the world was crumbling. I could have rebuilt my life on those ideas. Instead the bricks have been laid with the sour mortar of hatred and I fear it is too late, for it has already set." One hand reaches up and gently dries her tears. "It is not too late. You will see." Gently the hand lifts her chin to meet Victor's firm gaze. "No more tortures." Sierra blinks once, trying to staunch her tears, and then nods her agreement. "This is your war," she says. "We will fight it as you wish." 
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