Elendor
Oath Renewed - SPOILER ALERT
Bor confronts Ceredir over violation of an oath. ***SPOILER ALERT***
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification, War Room
Game Date: November 26, 3045
IC Time: Dawn
Weather: Clear
Description:
[Osgiliath ZMO(#36)->Ceredir]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Weather: Clear
Time: Dawn <06:06:33 >
Season: Autumn
Date: Oraearon - November 26, 3045
Real Time: Fri Jan 09 14:42:11 2009
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification, War Room
The damages of war and fire have been repaired in this room, though still some scars are visable. However, one is hard pressed to find reminders of the ruins. A large table stands as the most prominant feature of the room. Strudily crafted, yet crude and unadorned, one is reminded that here is a land of hard and bitter struggle in which luxuries serve no purpose. The walls bear no device or ornamentation save a large and detailed map of Osgiliath and the lands surrounding, and in one corner there is set a small table well laden with glass and decanters containing a variety of drink. A single window there is, facing outwards into the inner courtyard of the fortress, and it is heavily paned with thick shutters that may be pulled down for privacy.
[Bor(#30834)]
The war room is empty save for one man. He is the Knight-Captain, Bor Bragollach, and he leans back in a chair, his eyes cast to the ceiling.
Like a lazing predator, he waits.
A mouse can scent a cat on the hunt, and Ceredir, as he enters the war room now, is one jittery and skittish prey. But there is nothing to be done for it, given Bor's rank, and so he enters and then stands properly, hands at his sides, waiting to be addressed. The Scout's face is carefully blank.
[Bor(#30834)]
The chair lands back down upon the floor with a muffled crash. Bor folds his hands before his on the table and lets his gaze slowly drift to the Scout.
"Hello, Ceredir," he says.
"S..Sir."
Ceredir's throat is dry enough from nerves that the word sticks and he has to cough and say it again. He looks straight ahead, not meeting Bor's eyes.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor reaches under the table and rolls up a pant leg, grasping something attached to his ankle. When his hand is again visible to the Scout, it is no longer empty. There is a short blade there, and he places it upon the table.
"You have violated your oath to me."
Military training and bearing or not, Ceredir pales at the sight of the blade and takes an involuntary step backwards, bumping into a chair, which scrapes loudly against the floor.
"Sir."
The Scout's voice still does not work right.
[Bor(#30834)]
"I have kept my end of the agreement," says Bor evenly, his eyes never moving from the Scout as he stumbles about. "And whatever your opinion of me, that much I can say." He pauses. "I still have my honor, but you..."
"You have lost yours."
A deepening crease on Ceredir's forehead is his only reply as the Scout now maintains a steely silence. Nor do his eyes move to look at Bor at all.
[Bor(#30834)]
"I told you when first we met that if your Oath was broken," he continues, his words bearing a razor-sharp edge. "That I would exact the penalty from your flesh." He pushes forward the blade. "And I am a man of my word."
"Your left ring finger. Cut it off."
"What?!"
The shock of that order makes Ceredir blink, bursting out with the sudden response.
And then he shakes his head and backs up again, not caring that he has to now kick the chair out of his way--it clatters to the ground.
"No."
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor sits silently for a moment.
"I told you not long ago that nobility is not a birthright, that it is something that you earn," he begins. "This I truly believe, and yet a man cedes his nobility when he besmirches his honor."
"I have given two oaths in my life, and only two. One was to my Prince, and I would gladly give my life in service to him. The other was to you, and I have fulfilled that as well. Let us be done with this matter, Ceredir."
"Come, regain your honor."
A look of horror slowly spreads on Ceredir's face as he stares at the Knight Captain, his mouth dropping open. He stands so, unable to even form any words of a reply, the minutes passing by in a strained silence.
The Scout's mouth closes and his brows knit deeply. He reaches for and grasps the knife by its handle, taking it up in his right hand, testing its weight.
"And this will repair things between us how? Other than to satisfy my half of the oath? What then?"
[Bor(#30834)]
"What is there to repair between us?" asks Bor, watching alertly as the Scout hefts the knife into his hand. "What is salvaged in this act is your honor."
"The Oath remains in place and any previous grievance you have committed against it forgiven. I so hope that in seeing this wound, that you will be forestalled against breaching it any further. For some, words are not enough."
Ceredir stares at the knife blade, now looking at it with the same look of horror he had just fixed on Bor.
"What previous grievance?" is all he replies.
[Bor(#30834)]
"I know of only one," says Bor calmly.
"But if there are others, they are forgiven as well," he continues. "I am not here in anger or hatred, Scout. I only come to make good on my word to you."
Ceredir's mouth works, but no words come out, at least not on the first try. "And this..." he looks at blade..."in your eyes restores my honor?"
Again he struggles to speak, disbelief now added to his expression. "I...I cannot do this thing you ask. Cut off my own finger...Do it if you will...I freely submit to it. But do not ask me to do this thing myself. I cannot, sir." He shakes his head repeatedly.
[Bor(#30834)]
"It does," answers the Knight-Captain to the man's first query.
To his second, he offers only a short phrase. "You must do it."
He removes a bunched rag from his pocket. "I will give you this to bite upon." There is naught but seriousness in Bor's tone as he looks to Ceredir.
"It is your honor to regain, not mine to regain for you."
There is no answer in words--none at all.
Ceredir stares again at the Knight Captain, then reaches out a hand to take the rag. Except his hand is shaking so much that it takes two tries before he snatches it from the Knight. Another look given to Bor--darker now, a deep frown on the Scout's face. But he puts the rag in his mouth and bites down on it, then picks up the blade and runs a finger lightly along its edge, testing its sharpness and drawing a thin line of blood.
Still a third look is given to Bor and nothing is said as Ceredir rests his left hand on the table, fingers tucked under except for his ring finger. He draws a breath and shuts his eyes momentarily.
There's a flash of a knife blade and a chopping sound--the Scout has been using a knife all his life and even with his nerves as they are, his skill is clearly evident.
A fine spray of blood covers the wall, more blood flows onto the table itself. The rag, which had been in the Scout's mouth, is spat out, dropping to the floor.
"Son of a bitch."
Ceredir starts to fall to the floor.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor produces another rag from his cloak and covers up the finger, shoving it into his pocket. The one spit to the floor he also picks up then, bending down to Ceredir and holding it over the gushing wound. "Hold it there."
The Bragollach stands straightly then. "Commit no further offense upon the Oath you have given, for you have restored your honor in the eyes of he who first took it." He grabs the Scout about his shoulders and lifts him up.
"To the infirmary now. Speak no word of this incident. Tell them it was a training injury. That should suffice," he says swiftly.
"I shall see to the mess."
Ceredir is clutching his left hand to his abdomen, his tunic soaked through quickly with blood despite the rag now held to his hand.
His face white, the Scout nods at Bor's words, still not speaking. Then he stumbles out the door.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor looks after the Scout, the look in his eyes imperceptible. He saves his thoughts for another day, though. His eyes soon cant about the room, to the blood on the walls, and that on the floor. A cloth in his hand, he begins to scrub out the stains.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Weather: Clear
Time: Dawn <06:06:33 >
Season: Autumn
Date: Oraearon - November 26, 3045
Real Time: Fri Jan 09 14:42:11 2009
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification, War Room
The damages of war and fire have been repaired in this room, though still some scars are visable. However, one is hard pressed to find reminders of the ruins. A large table stands as the most prominant feature of the room. Strudily crafted, yet crude and unadorned, one is reminded that here is a land of hard and bitter struggle in which luxuries serve no purpose. The walls bear no device or ornamentation save a large and detailed map of Osgiliath and the lands surrounding, and in one corner there is set a small table well laden with glass and decanters containing a variety of drink. A single window there is, facing outwards into the inner courtyard of the fortress, and it is heavily paned with thick shutters that may be pulled down for privacy.
[Bor(#30834)]
The war room is empty save for one man. He is the Knight-Captain, Bor Bragollach, and he leans back in a chair, his eyes cast to the ceiling.
Like a lazing predator, he waits.
A mouse can scent a cat on the hunt, and Ceredir, as he enters the war room now, is one jittery and skittish prey. But there is nothing to be done for it, given Bor's rank, and so he enters and then stands properly, hands at his sides, waiting to be addressed. The Scout's face is carefully blank.
[Bor(#30834)]
The chair lands back down upon the floor with a muffled crash. Bor folds his hands before his on the table and lets his gaze slowly drift to the Scout.
"Hello, Ceredir," he says.
"S..Sir."
Ceredir's throat is dry enough from nerves that the word sticks and he has to cough and say it again. He looks straight ahead, not meeting Bor's eyes.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor reaches under the table and rolls up a pant leg, grasping something attached to his ankle. When his hand is again visible to the Scout, it is no longer empty. There is a short blade there, and he places it upon the table.
"You have violated your oath to me."
Military training and bearing or not, Ceredir pales at the sight of the blade and takes an involuntary step backwards, bumping into a chair, which scrapes loudly against the floor.
"Sir."
The Scout's voice still does not work right.
[Bor(#30834)]
"I have kept my end of the agreement," says Bor evenly, his eyes never moving from the Scout as he stumbles about. "And whatever your opinion of me, that much I can say." He pauses. "I still have my honor, but you..."
"You have lost yours."
A deepening crease on Ceredir's forehead is his only reply as the Scout now maintains a steely silence. Nor do his eyes move to look at Bor at all.
[Bor(#30834)]
"I told you when first we met that if your Oath was broken," he continues, his words bearing a razor-sharp edge. "That I would exact the penalty from your flesh." He pushes forward the blade. "And I am a man of my word."
"Your left ring finger. Cut it off."
"What?!"
The shock of that order makes Ceredir blink, bursting out with the sudden response.
And then he shakes his head and backs up again, not caring that he has to now kick the chair out of his way--it clatters to the ground.
"No."
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor sits silently for a moment.
"I told you not long ago that nobility is not a birthright, that it is something that you earn," he begins. "This I truly believe, and yet a man cedes his nobility when he besmirches his honor."
"I have given two oaths in my life, and only two. One was to my Prince, and I would gladly give my life in service to him. The other was to you, and I have fulfilled that as well. Let us be done with this matter, Ceredir."
"Come, regain your honor."
A look of horror slowly spreads on Ceredir's face as he stares at the Knight Captain, his mouth dropping open. He stands so, unable to even form any words of a reply, the minutes passing by in a strained silence.
The Scout's mouth closes and his brows knit deeply. He reaches for and grasps the knife by its handle, taking it up in his right hand, testing its weight.
"And this will repair things between us how? Other than to satisfy my half of the oath? What then?"
[Bor(#30834)]
"What is there to repair between us?" asks Bor, watching alertly as the Scout hefts the knife into his hand. "What is salvaged in this act is your honor."
"The Oath remains in place and any previous grievance you have committed against it forgiven. I so hope that in seeing this wound, that you will be forestalled against breaching it any further. For some, words are not enough."
Ceredir stares at the knife blade, now looking at it with the same look of horror he had just fixed on Bor.
"What previous grievance?" is all he replies.
[Bor(#30834)]
"I know of only one," says Bor calmly.
"But if there are others, they are forgiven as well," he continues. "I am not here in anger or hatred, Scout. I only come to make good on my word to you."
Ceredir's mouth works, but no words come out, at least not on the first try. "And this..." he looks at blade..."in your eyes restores my honor?"
Again he struggles to speak, disbelief now added to his expression. "I...I cannot do this thing you ask. Cut off my own finger...Do it if you will...I freely submit to it. But do not ask me to do this thing myself. I cannot, sir." He shakes his head repeatedly.
[Bor(#30834)]
"It does," answers the Knight-Captain to the man's first query.
To his second, he offers only a short phrase. "You must do it."
He removes a bunched rag from his pocket. "I will give you this to bite upon." There is naught but seriousness in Bor's tone as he looks to Ceredir.
"It is your honor to regain, not mine to regain for you."
There is no answer in words--none at all.
Ceredir stares again at the Knight Captain, then reaches out a hand to take the rag. Except his hand is shaking so much that it takes two tries before he snatches it from the Knight. Another look given to Bor--darker now, a deep frown on the Scout's face. But he puts the rag in his mouth and bites down on it, then picks up the blade and runs a finger lightly along its edge, testing its sharpness and drawing a thin line of blood.
Still a third look is given to Bor and nothing is said as Ceredir rests his left hand on the table, fingers tucked under except for his ring finger. He draws a breath and shuts his eyes momentarily.
There's a flash of a knife blade and a chopping sound--the Scout has been using a knife all his life and even with his nerves as they are, his skill is clearly evident.
A fine spray of blood covers the wall, more blood flows onto the table itself. The rag, which had been in the Scout's mouth, is spat out, dropping to the floor.
"Son of a bitch."
Ceredir starts to fall to the floor.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor produces another rag from his cloak and covers up the finger, shoving it into his pocket. The one spit to the floor he also picks up then, bending down to Ceredir and holding it over the gushing wound. "Hold it there."
The Bragollach stands straightly then. "Commit no further offense upon the Oath you have given, for you have restored your honor in the eyes of he who first took it." He grabs the Scout about his shoulders and lifts him up.
"To the infirmary now. Speak no word of this incident. Tell them it was a training injury. That should suffice," he says swiftly.
"I shall see to the mess."
Ceredir is clutching his left hand to his abdomen, his tunic soaked through quickly with blood despite the rag now held to his hand.
His face white, the Scout nods at Bor's words, still not speaking. Then he stumbles out the door.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor looks after the Scout, the look in his eyes imperceptible. He saves his thoughts for another day, though. His eyes soon cant about the room, to the blood on the walls, and that on the floor. A cloth in his hand, he begins to scrub out the stains.
Players: Bor, Ceredir
Located in: Gondorian
