Requiem for an anonymous assassin (a.k.a. my role):

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Posted by Ealion on July 16, 2000 at 18:06:33:


Ah, there you are.

Comfortable?

Are you cold? There are goosebumps on your arms. Here, let me add a few
logs to the fire.

There. Is that better? Never let it be said that Ealion Valdare was less
than courteous to a guest.

Are you wondering why you're here? Yes, I see you are. Let me tell you a
little story, then. It may help to ease your mind.

It was, oh, early spring in the year of the Long Sun, and there was a young
man - you wonder who this man was? Oh, his name is unimportant. Let's just
call him a good friend of mine - living in Seantryn Modan. My friend was a
fine-featured man, strong and clean-limbed, and possessed of a great beauty,
and most all the young girls vied for his affections. Oh, yes, envious and
jealous men spread dastardly rumors to lure the women away. Silly things
about a necromancer father, or a hereditary strain of insanity in the blood-
line... oh, you know the kinds of things people say. Ridiculous claims that
no one of any sense pays any attention to.

You look thirsty. Here, would you like a glass of wine? Ah, you shake your
head? Of course, I'm being foolish, you can't take wine in that fashion.
Just a sip for myself, then, to dry my throat.

Yes, a fine vintage. Year of the Black Jackal, if I'm any judge. Now, where
was I? Oh, yes. We were talking about my friend from Seantryn Modan, were
we not? Yes, well, you can surely understand that such a fine young man as
my friend deserved a girl worthy of his beauty. And, of course, he found
the only girl in all Thera deserving of him. She was the daughter of an elf,
a mere merchant whose ships brought goods from ports all around the Aryth
Ocean, but her great beauty made up for her humble station, and my friend
made up his mind to offer her the honor of his hand in marriage.

You disagree? But of course it was an honor to her, and not to him. He
was the most brilliant, handsome man in all of the South Continent, and she
was only a girl, and an elf girl at that. And not even of noble blood.

Now I must insist that you stop interrupting me. We'll never finish this
little discussion if you keep trying to interject your own comments, don't
you agree?

Ah, yes, I see you understand now. Very good.

Of course, she spurned my friend's offer at first. He understood. She was
new to the city. She didn't know what a brilliant match this would be. So
he condescended to convince her and woo her with soft words, telling her of
his great beauty, of his unsurpassed intelligence and prospects. He spoke
of his generousity to the poor and kindness to the commoners, how he
benevolently granted the gift of his favors to even the lowest station of
young women, should they be comely. He told her how he would lavish gifts
upon her and house her in the finest of mansions, and how she would be envied
by all the city. You comprehend, don't you, what a fine offer this was?

Ah, you cannot speak? No matter. I see the agreement in your eyes.

You understand, then, how inconceivable my friend found it when she turned
him down - and not with the humility befitting her rank, but with loud-voiced
scorn and disdain. She claimed, in her arrogance, that my friend was a boor,
a pig and a dolt, bereft of intelligence, manners and common sense alike.
Even more, incredible as it sounds, she claimed he was a low-born peasant -
an elf, and an elf maiden, with the hubris to call a true man low-born?
Finally, she told him that he lacked all capability for magic, and, as such,
was less worthy of her than the least of street illusionists!

You seem tense with anger. Yes, I understand. You would curse the wench who
dared speak with such unthinking insolence, wouldn't you?

Yes, and so would any reasonable man. But love makes fools of us all. My
friend, in his loving mercy, chose to give the girl one more chance to
realize the brillance of the offer she'd spurned. He'd thought past his
righteous anger and found the clue to her foolishness in her words regarding
magic. A silly thing, magic. Completely useless, a toy for children and the
lesser races, don't you agree? And that, then, was the answer. The girl was
surrounded by elves, who, unable to master the arts of true men, convince
themselves of the value of their conjury. It was left only to show her how
foolish this admiration was, and she would repent of her effrontery. Now, my
friend was a highly trained assassin - oh, you seem surprised. Did I not
mention that little detail? - and it was an easy night's work to slip past
the hired guards, come upon her family sleeping, and secure each of them with
rope and gags.

Yes, my friend was quite an expert in the subtle art of bondage. I believe
I share a little of his gift for it, wouldn't you agree?

Well, then. My friend gently took his guests and carried them to the sitting
room, where he awoke his love with a kiss. Oh, there was nothing magical
about the timing. He'd measured the doses of the sleeping drug with great
caution. He'd hoped showing her how easily he had defeated the wards and
such would convince her how ridiculous her approbation of sorcery was. But
she refused to see sense, and only glared sulkily at him, so he moved on to
the next part of his demonstration.

Iron is a fascinating metal, don't you think? Time permitting, I hope to
demonstrate some of its more estoric uses... ah, but I digress. Suffice to
say that the inferiority of the elven race is revealed in their reaction to
this harmless substance. My friend was an excellent assassin, as he was
excellent in everything he attempted, and of course he had brought with him
a fine dagger of this element. And with this dagger, he graphically demon-
strated the futility of sorcery. Her mother and father, particularly,
refused to accept their foreordained fate. But their frantic chanting,
muffled, of course, by their gags, was of no avail when countered by sharp
iron, and their stifled chanting degenerated into stifled screams, thus to
stifled whimpers, and thus, in due course, to a stifled silence. Her sisters
and brothers were perhaps not as devoted to their trickery, as they elected
to bypass the chanting and begin directly with the screams. In a matter of
several hours, therefore, all was quiet.

My friend untied and ungagged the girl, then, and spoke to her quietly. He
was sorry, he said, that events had come to such a pass, but her senseless
stubbornness had brought it upon them. Now she had seen the futility of
the magic she had so far advocated. My friend's patience had come to an
end, he said. She would love and obey him, and accept the honor of his hand,
or she would be chastised severely.

A truly reasonable proposition, under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?
Ah, but you are sweating. Is the fire too hot for you? Don't worry. There
are only a few more moments left in my tale. Pray attend.

Unfortunately, when my friend removed the gag, he found that the silly girl
still held fast to her unreasonable position. In fact, she refused even to
acknowledge his existence. Her wide green eyes rolled slowly in their
sockets, and a soft stream of indecipherable babble fell from her ruby lips.
All my friend's efforts at persuasion came to naught, and finally he was
forced to conclude that the loss of her illusions regarding sorcery was too
much for her fragile mind to bear.

And so, you understand, he had to kill her. Because he loved her, you see.
Loved her too much to allow to remain in the state of insanity to which the
magic and the lies of magicians had left her in. So sorrowfully, he gave her
the gift she had foolishly refused, the gift of his favors, and when the act
was completed, he cut her throat, and cursing magic he left her lying there.

And so my little tale comes to an end. You understand, don't you? There
was nothing he could do for her but kill her. He'd acted with restraint and
reason throughout, but she was tainted by the magic that forced her to spurn
him. Yes, the magic was at fault. The mages were at fault. And so the
mages must be chastised, and the magic destroyed, don't you understand?

Of course you understand. I can see it in the depths of your eyes, though
you cannot voice your agreement without your tongue. Perhaps you even
understand why you are my guest here, and comprehend a little of your own
fate.

Ah, the fire is burning down. No matter. The irons are sufficiently heated,
and, if not, well.. they are iron, and you are an elf, after all.

You put up something of a fight, but your silly magic didn't make that much
of a difference in the end, did it?

Comfortable?

Then we'll begin.

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