[Ta’Vaalor, Wyvern Keep, Citizens' Office, many, many decades ago]
A young Iskandr Tamarack fails to lounge back in a very stiff-backed chair, thumbs hooked in his belt. His eyes gaze aimlessly at the low vaulted stone ceiling above, ornamented by whimsical carvings of woodland creatures chasing among twining ivies. He follows the creatures along as they continue toward a carved stone counter, where a scar-faced clerk pours over an organized but heaping pile of official-looking tomes and documents.
The clerk slams a final book closed, ripping Iskandr’s mind away from aimless animal spotting. She looks at him in disgust. “I have checked all of our records. You came here for information on your family history, but as far as all our records indicate, your history is…” The clerk pauses briefly and sighs. “...far less historical unfortunately.”
Iskandr casts her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
The clerk rolls her eyes and resumes the sneering tone to her voice. “Though you dress like trash from that garbage town to the west, you were in fact born here in the Citadel. You are by right and birth, a citizen of Ta’Vaalor.”
The notion made Iskandr firmly shake his head.”No, no, there’s no way that’s true, I was born and have spent my entire childhood in and around the Landing.”
“Yes, and it shows. You are disgusting.” The clerk picks up some files and bangs them on her desk to better arrange them and best indicate that their time is done together. “Believe you me, I find it absolutely abhorrent that someone of your obviously inferior class, completely lacking in a proper Vaalor upbringing could receive the merits of citizenship. You make my stomach churn only slightly less than the various savage peoples beyond our walls that are allowed to come here under great benevolence of our King, but you are a Vaalor elf and you were born here and as such are entitled to all that entails.
Iskandr stands, feeling sucker punched. The shock of the revelation allows him to forget that the clerk is possibly one of the most vile people he’s ever interacted with. “Well, this certainly changes everything…”
((Laying out a bit of where Iskandr comes from in terms of having a childhood in the Landing and then military time in Ta'Vaalor, which leaves him a bit torn between the two, something of an enigma in both places. More to come, I'll probably post something in the WL/TV boards more directly relational to the current WL story shortly, but felt this was a good primer))
RSCODY
RSCODY
Re: Between a Rock and a Hard Place
07/21/2020 03:17 PM CDT
[Ta’Vaalor, Guardian Keep, one month ago]
Iskandr Tamarack stands rigidly at near attention in the Legionnaire Captain’s office making a case for his mission. “Sir, a dark tide rises in the west. There is word of some blood cult emerging in and around the Landing. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to see what is happening over there.”
The Legionnaire Captain sighs. “There is always a dark tide rising in that horrible trash town. Haven’t you seen that they have a new horror every month? Your nostalgia for that town after nearly one-hundred and fifty years away from it troubles me. You are Vaalor for gods’ sake, act like it!”
Iskandr pauses for a moment to consider his next course of action. “What if they start painting the walls here red with blood? What if we do nothing and it comes to us?”
The captain laughs. “First, I don’t believe any of these fools would make it over the mountains alive, and second, if they do, I’m happy to put their head on a pike without question. No one will enter the gates to spread this nonsense.”
The second pause lasted longer than the first. The Captain could see the determination in Iskandr’s eyes and so he continued.
“You have served your century with the Legion and are now a reservist. As such, I no longer OWN you, and you are free to come and go as you please. But be aware, should Ta’Vaalor come under threat while you are gallivanting around the Landing connecting with old whims and fancy, I will assure that we put your head on a pike for failing the fortress and your own people.”
He hadn’t quite gotten the authorization he had wished, but Iskandr realizes that this might be the best he’d ever get. “Sir, I will report back everything to assure the best possible information on this emerging threat.” Seeing the conversation at an end, Iskandr firmly salutes the captain and pivots to head for the door, only to be stopped by the captain.
“Iskandr, you served your time with the Legion and are by birth a citizen, but you’ve always carried with you a dangerous foreign taint that makes me sick. Perhaps it would be best if you should stay in the Landing…”
Turning around again, the fury in Iskandr’s eye glow molten, but he manages civil words. “When I was a child in that Landing, my father told me stories of the glories of the Vaalor elves and our martial valor and how we rode out in ancient times to help the other peoples’ of this world….”
The captain cut him off. “Perhaps during the undead war we had to ally with the lesser peoples to assure our own survival, but I can assure you we don’t RIDE OUT to help any of those inferior peoples unless it is of benefit to our empire.”
Nodding at the captain having taken the bait, Iskandr continues. “Yes, perhaps what my father told me were just myths, legends, and lies, but I swallowed them whole and believed that the Vaalor were meritorious and great, not scared fools hiding behind their walls clinging to a small vestige of what they once were.”
And so the captain fumed with hate of his own. “You speak near treason. I would bite your tongue NOW. Go off on your damn fool idea, I can shove whatever report you return with into some useless filing cabinet, or I can crack a bottle of wine to celebrate your demise and no longer worry about the high-minded garbage you spew influencing this town and the Legion.”
And with that, Iskandr turned to go.
Iskandr Tamarack stands rigidly at near attention in the Legionnaire Captain’s office making a case for his mission. “Sir, a dark tide rises in the west. There is word of some blood cult emerging in and around the Landing. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to see what is happening over there.”
The Legionnaire Captain sighs. “There is always a dark tide rising in that horrible trash town. Haven’t you seen that they have a new horror every month? Your nostalgia for that town after nearly one-hundred and fifty years away from it troubles me. You are Vaalor for gods’ sake, act like it!”
Iskandr pauses for a moment to consider his next course of action. “What if they start painting the walls here red with blood? What if we do nothing and it comes to us?”
The captain laughs. “First, I don’t believe any of these fools would make it over the mountains alive, and second, if they do, I’m happy to put their head on a pike without question. No one will enter the gates to spread this nonsense.”
The second pause lasted longer than the first. The Captain could see the determination in Iskandr’s eyes and so he continued.
“You have served your century with the Legion and are now a reservist. As such, I no longer OWN you, and you are free to come and go as you please. But be aware, should Ta’Vaalor come under threat while you are gallivanting around the Landing connecting with old whims and fancy, I will assure that we put your head on a pike for failing the fortress and your own people.”
He hadn’t quite gotten the authorization he had wished, but Iskandr realizes that this might be the best he’d ever get. “Sir, I will report back everything to assure the best possible information on this emerging threat.” Seeing the conversation at an end, Iskandr firmly salutes the captain and pivots to head for the door, only to be stopped by the captain.
“Iskandr, you served your time with the Legion and are by birth a citizen, but you’ve always carried with you a dangerous foreign taint that makes me sick. Perhaps it would be best if you should stay in the Landing…”
Turning around again, the fury in Iskandr’s eye glow molten, but he manages civil words. “When I was a child in that Landing, my father told me stories of the glories of the Vaalor elves and our martial valor and how we rode out in ancient times to help the other peoples’ of this world….”
The captain cut him off. “Perhaps during the undead war we had to ally with the lesser peoples to assure our own survival, but I can assure you we don’t RIDE OUT to help any of those inferior peoples unless it is of benefit to our empire.”
Nodding at the captain having taken the bait, Iskandr continues. “Yes, perhaps what my father told me were just myths, legends, and lies, but I swallowed them whole and believed that the Vaalor were meritorious and great, not scared fools hiding behind their walls clinging to a small vestige of what they once were.”
And so the captain fumed with hate of his own. “You speak near treason. I would bite your tongue NOW. Go off on your damn fool idea, I can shove whatever report you return with into some useless filing cabinet, or I can crack a bottle of wine to celebrate your demise and no longer worry about the high-minded garbage you spew influencing this town and the Legion.”
And with that, Iskandr turned to go.
