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"The Scapegoat"
Date: September 12, 1999  It is an early spring evening in Haven and already the pyres for the dead from the most recent plague light the night's sky. There are fewer fires now that the tide has been turned, but the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh can still be detected in the air. However, there is a new light in the streets... the light of hundreds of torches clustered around a ramshackle building in the Dock district. The torches are held by an angry mob of people, purebreds all of them. There is malice in their faces as they wait outside the building and scream in rage at the walls, screaming things like, "Witch... filthy Mongrel... harlot!" They raise a horrible cry of brutal delight as a group of them exit the building with a figure held roughly between them. From the east, through the dark streets there moves a figure who seems to blend perfectly into the shadowed night-time streets. Tvashtri, dressed mostly in black, enters the area around the docks. He's heard the rumors about some gathering this evening, and would never wish to miss out on something to become indignant over. The light of the torches casts flickering patterns of gold onto his dark skin, illuminating his narrowed black eyes. "What's all this shouting about?" he asks a Sylvan woman, whom he grabs rather unceremoniously by the upper arm. "Why is this woman being accused of crimes?" Keiki travels in from an abandoned stretch of beach to the west. Leaning up against the wall, a Korallion Sentry can be seen. Not only a Sentry, but the second. Morven folds his arms across his chest and watches the mob, smirking silently as things transpire. One might guess he could side with the mob on this one. A weary Sylvan figure with a crow upon his shoulder, the Herald StormBearer, was previously walking down the docks, black stone cane in hand. Now however, that has stopped. Upon sight of what is happening, his pace picks up, breaking into a full run. He looks on, trying to discern what is happening, and the crow upon his shoulder jumps into the air, its wings pumping heavily as it gets a literal bird's eye view. She had been wandering on the beaches earlier this day, watching the corpses of her dead friends drift away into the tide. She had been their to mourn and to pray to Pasiphae to be merciful on their souls. Her white robe barely hit the sand whilst she kneeled, when Milane was accosted by two purebred men. One Varati. One Empyrean. She looked up, with water in her eyes and offered comfort for surely they were there to mourn the dead. But there were curse words and rough hands were placed on her body before she realized she must run. Milane attempted to escape, but was hit upon the head and dark came over the rest of the day. Now, she is being dragged towards the masses of screaming, angry people. Her white silk robe is cut and torn. There is blood on her face, and her dark eyes are highlighted by silver and blue bruises. She says nothing, and remains calm. The expression on her face is one of acceptance. Of her fate. She mutters to herself, "Pasiphae, be merciful." The Sylvan woman has the pallid look of someone whom has had a brush with the plague and managed to survive. There is hate and malice in her eyes, but she manages to choke back some insult that she was about to shout and says in a raspy voice that has been ravaged by the sickness. She waves her hands frantically in the direction of the brutalized figure and says in a ill-cultured voice, "Those filthy Mongrels who brought the plague into the city... this one would not listen and now she is going to pay." Keiki walks toward the city. Walking is difficult, yes, given that she is heavy with child. She most certainly did not expect to come upon a mob of people. She lurks at the corner of a stall, trying to keep out of sight while trying to see what is going on. The bedraggled appearance of the Mongrel woman is enough to invoke the crowd to even more viciousness. As Milane is dragged through the crowd, violence is done unto her in many forms as grown men rush up to rip at her clothing... to strike her blows across the face. The worst abuses are suffered from the woman, many of them bearing the scars from the plague. In a few moments, Milane's clothing is in tatters and her diminutive frame is scored by dozens of scratches and bruises. Blood flows freely from her wounds as she stumbles and is lifted back to her feet. The destination that the crowd has in mind is quite obvious... there is a large bundle of sticks interspersed with dozens of bodies, one of the funeral pyres for Dock residents. There is a large pole in the middle of the bodies that has a set of manacles hung upon them. There is a grim-faced man off to one side holding a large torch. The grim look upon the face of the Herald becomes even grimmer. He advances forward, pushing his way through the mob, calm in the face of a raging inferno of hate and bloodlust. He's careful not to push anyone too big. He yells at the people assembled, but his shouts go unheard, for the crowd is too loud. Keiki's eyes go wide as a gap in the crowd allows her to see what is going on. They surely can't mean to do this? Why are they treating the woman so poorly? Another sider for the Mongrel rushes up to Morven, "Aren't you going to do something?" Morven picks up a foot and rests it against the wall, as he answers, "Can't. This isn't my jurisdiction." He shrugs and grins as the person walks away frustrated, in search of Hounds off in the distance. Tvashtri releases the forest-dweller's arm without another word and stalks further toward the back of the crowd, careful not to come too close to those torches. "Ha' all in dis mob go' totall' crazy?" he mumbles to himself. "They's gon' kill dis woma' jus' 'cause dey think she brough' da plague into da city? They crazy!" A few in the outskirts of the crowd scowl toward the vexed Varati with disapproval, but pay him no more mind than they would a local madman and continue to go about their shouting. Milane closes her eyes as brutality after brutality is exacted on her body. She realized much earlier today that fighting the masses, trying to plead or case, would only irritate them further. Each punch or rip or dagger in her form is her price, and for each there is a plan. That is what Milane keeps in her heart, to get through the screams and pain. There are tears streaming down her face, and Milane clutches her lower abdomen protectively. Several men retrieve the form of Milane at the stake. They throw her form against the pole, and slap her face and chest a few times to make their point further. A small boy begins to tie rope around her form while the grown purebreds hold her against the stake. Milane continues to clutch her abdomen, and draws her eyes to look upon the sea. . . .And so it took a scapegoat to bring the races together. . . StormBearer continues yelling, screaming even, but no one notices. They all think that he's just part of the crowd, yelling for her death, not the opposite. He can't get any closer, they're all pressed too tight for him to get by, but still he yells violently, invoking the name of Nokomis at least five times. Keiki gasps. If it weren't for the babe, she could make it through to help. As it is, however, she cannot. She drops to her knees in agony for watching the poor mongrel girl. Someone, please stop this. Morven shifts to rest his other foot against the wall, looking on with interest from his higher vantage point. As the Mongrel woman is lashed to the pole, the crowd pushes closer around the mountain of bodies and begin to chant, "Burn! Burn! Burn!" A large Sylvan man with snow-white hair and a mad gleam in his eyes steps forward and takes the torch from the grim-faced man and then moves to the edge of the crowd and raises the torch. He is standing very near several large figures in jet black robes and cowls, the mark of those that have been disfigured by the plague and wish to hide their wounds. His face has a maniacal look as he beckons for silence. When the chanting subsides to background noise, he begins... "Look at this filthy whore! She would carry the plague amongst us and reave me of my children and wife... our loved ones." He grimaces and hits her once across the side of her brutalized skin with the torch, leaving a horrible burn across her flank, "This Witch from Avalon would seek to treat with us, but brought ruin to us all by the taint of her weak blood, will die for what she has cost us. We will burn her as example to her kind to stay in their little homeland and leave the rest of the world alone!" The crowd may have quieted, but StormBearer certainly hasn't quieted down. No way. Red Adrenaline pumps through his lean body. Perhaps maybe someone will still listen. "Stop this, you foolish people! The plague started among the Empyreans, not the mongrels! Think better than to kill an innocent woman!" Another young Mongrel girl approaches Morven, tears streaking her face as she begs him to intervene. He waves his hand to brush her off. "Away with you, before someone ties you to a stake." Seems that was just the right thing to say for as fast as she leaves. The man's words carry above the clamor and chanting, even to the furthest reaches of the mob where peaceful Tvashtri stands. Those selfsame words are enough to send his mind and gut reeling with disgust. Dark eyes shut against the sight of a myriad dancing torches and bloodthirsty citizens, and one hand drifts to his furrowed brow. He's lucky a small shop made of somewhat decaying wood is nearby, enough to lean upon. "It was them 'Pyrean 'n' V'radi reffagees wh' brough' da plague. Not jus' one woma'," he manages to murmur. "But they wouldna lissa t'me. No' even da folks in da Inn." As much as she wants to die with dignity, Milane is only flesh and blood. Tears are streaming down her face as she looks out into the angry crowd. Blood and sweat leak from her skin, and agony and fear flood on the other side. Those that had once called her friend, now cheer for her death. She shakes her head slowly from one side to the other, and says with as much energy as she can muster up. . . "I beg you, good people of Haven, to have mercy on me. Please! I am a mongrel, impure of blood, and lesser. But I have never wished harm upon a soul. I seek to cherish and honor everything that makes the races beautiful, and I mourn the plague as you do." With the end of her last words, a strong and chiseled Varati man punches Milane across the face which stirs a breaking sound in her lower jaw. Milane lets out a high-pitched moan, and begins to sob as the sticks at the stake are lit. She begins to pray to Pasiphae for her own soul. The Executioner laughs at the final words and he gives a small signal that compels the Varati to commit one final indignity upon the bound woman. He does not laugh any further, but his face retains the look of violent delight as he circles the sticks about the base of the pile of bodies and begins to light the tinder. His eyes gleam in the firelight and he turns to the crowd and raises the torch high as the crowd begins to resume their chanting, "Burn! Burn! Burn!" His voice rings out in malice as he says at the top of lungs, "Learn this lesson well... watch this Mongrel..." And then his voice dies abruptly as a jagged dagger erupts from his throat and throws crimson upon the crowd that has gathered around the pyre. He convulses once upon the dagger as the jerking of his throat upon the cruel blade completes the act. He falls to the ground, the torch still in his outstretched hand. Keiki clutches her stomach at the sight, doubling over where she kneels on the ground. She closes her mind completely, as tightly as her eyes are closed. As the Sylvan falls, the hand that holds the blade is revealed to be one of the large figures in the dark robes and cowl. There are eight other figures behind this one and they appear to be part of a group... they are utterly motionless for an instant as the impact of what has happened dawns upon the mob and they retreat several steps away from the sinister murderer. And then in a motion that is perfectly synchronized, a motion that is mimicked by all nine of the dark ones, they reach up to their necks and rip away their robes... to reveal nine of the Pallid Warriors of the Orcinus! StormBearer silences as the man's neck is pierced, and smiles as the Pallid Warriors are revealed. Well, this is certainly an interesting twist. His cane goes down to the ground as he leans forward and watches silently. Well, er, I suppose this is good? Morven stands and peers to see if he was seeing things or if that really happened. "Where the heck did they come from?" he mutters to himself. Tvashtri does not notice the sudden and shocking appearance of the Pallid Warriors, for he still has his eyes closed and is concentrating on not hearing the chanting. But the chanting has paused for a beat -- enough to goad Tvashtri into opening one eye slightly to see what's happening. All that can be seen, though, are the torches and gaping rabble. "Now wha'?" he asks himself, moving to right himself from his slump against the fish-merchant's stall and stride closer to the crowd once more. Milane has been tied so that her hands clutch against her lower abdomen, which she grasps protectively even as the flames claim victory over the dead bodies and sticks. She closes her eyes as the Sylvan screams her fate hearing the words slowly. . . "Watch this mongr. . ." and then the voice is suddenly stilled, and the weight of a man is heard against the ground. The mongrel woman opens her eyes to see the action and spots the murder, and then, the strong figures of the Pallid Warriors of the Orcinus. Is it possible? She shakes her head, and then brings her eyes back to the sights. It is not a hallucination. She mouths silently, "Kuronbo?" What is left of Milane's strength and spirit is quickly regained and the woman attempts to break out of her ropes. She is saved. The Pallid Warriors are not the impassive statues that were remembered, instead they are animated with looks of hate that are every bit of malicious as those found in the crowd. Their armor and coral weapons are bared as they set in a crouched battle stance, hissing in atavistic fashion at the crowd, sounding like creatures of horror rather than peaceful Atlanteans. It is noticed that their condition is relatively poor... ribs are clearly visible and they have an unhealthy, undernourished look, but there is violence and passion in their eyes as they bare their teeth and hiss at the crowd. Behind them, the fire grows.... The naming of the Dark Atlantean draws the attention of one of the Pallid Ones and abruptly, they ascend the pile of bodies toward the woman. The fire is licking at the feet of the Mongrel woman and two of the trio dive upon the fire and the sizzle of it upon their flesh is heard throughout the throng. The other Pallid Warrior brings up his coral dagger and cleanly slices through the chain that holds the manacles, freeing her arms. The breaking of her bounds causes her to fall forward into the waiting arms of the Pallid Warrior. Morven moves in quickly removing his rank and insignia from his uniform on the approach, an idea inspired by the action ahead. He begins to mutter as he wanders through the crowd, "The Orcinus must have been behind the plague all along. They side with the witch." He is careful not to come too close to the Pallid Warriors, nor let anyone associate the rumor he starts with his face. "The shark seeks to destroy all." StormBearer grins for the first time in weeks, glad to see that Milane is being rescued. It would have ruined his day had she been burned at the stake. Probably would have ruined hers too. Milane watches carefully as the Pallid Warriors work through the crowd. She is hypnotized by the foreign creatures that she had spent much time watching with the Orcinus. They come to collect and save her now, an act she had not calculated. They even burn for her. Milane mutters again in mantra, "Kuronbo. . ." She squirms within the ropes, and attempts to free herself before the coral breaks her free from the flames and the angry mob. She continues to mouth, "Kuronbo. . ." though tears would now fall down her eyes. Milane is collected in an instant and the phalanx of Pallid Warriors forms about her upon the burning pyre. As all of this happens, the crowd stands in silent shock as the nightmare that preceded the nightmare of the plague walks among them...who had not heard of the alien Orcinus and their fleet of Black Warships? But then the single voice, 'The Orcinus must have been behind this! The Shark seeks to destroy all!' rings out like a signal and animation returns to the crowd. Their faces grow terrible as they regard the ghostly ones against the backdrop of flames and they stoop to pick at the cobblestones, blocking their path back to the water. First one stone.. and then several are flung at the figures on top of the pyre. The stones strike the Pallid Warriors, drawing blood as they fall to their knees amongst the impacts. And then as if there is some hidden signal, they spring off the pyre and they rush forward with knives outstretched... in an instant, the Pallid Warriors are amongst the crowd. Coral knives flash as the first two trios of Warriors begin to cut their way through the crowd. Reason is lost and blood flashes high in the air as the knives bite into the flesh of the crowd with uncanny precision, as if some higher power links all nine of them. Dozens fall in a moment under the onslaught as they try to fight their way to the edge of the docks. Morven wanders away from the scene, his seeds are sown. A morbid smile crosses his face. Should Kuronbo want to return, it won't be so easy next time. All that for the price of a few dozen lives. No one he'll miss, he wagers as he is swallowed by the darkness. Morven leaves the bustle of the docks, towards the east. StormBearer is glad he was on the other side of the pyre. Away from the water, that is. He certainly doesn't approve of these methods, but they can be forgiven considering all that's happened this evening. Keiki struggles to her feet, making her way to the nearest water so that she can flee more quickly, before she gets caught up in this all. Keiki travels to the western edge of the docks along Seaside. Milane cringes as the crowd finds a new scapegoat in the Orcinus. She says in high pitched, breathless shrieks, "Blame me, not the Orcinus if you must!" The Pallid Warriors quickly communicate something to her, and her cries are silent as she consents to let them guide her in the escape attempt. The blood in the crowd that follows effects her, and Milane holds her broken face in her hands while more innocent people die in rage. It cannot be over soon enough. Her body is quickly guided away from the fighting, somehow. She mouths inside her hands, "Kuronbo?" The precise and coordinated actions of the Pallid Warriors slay dozens, but the weight of the crowd begins to have a telling effect as they fling themselves upon the Orcinus with makeshift weapons... attempting to expel their hate upon this target. One of the Pallid Warriors falls with a pike through his chest, and then another falls beneath the punches and kicks of another group. The Pallid Warriors fall closer to the single Warrior that bears the Mongrel woman. In a few instants, they are within a few meters of the docks and abruptly, the final two Pallid Warriors that have not fallen to the weapons of the mob turn and fling themselves bodily into the crowd, felling another dozen of the mob before they disappear beneath the hateful wave. Their sacrifice is not in vain as the final Warrior dives into the water with Milane, silhouetted perfectly by the low full moon as they arc towards the water and then enter it with a large splash... and then disappear beneath the waves. Tvashtri has been trying to look toward the water to see exactly what all the splashing and clamor is about. He does a better job hiding his revulsion to the violence than to the beginning of this foul affair, luckily. The tall Varati man pushes through the crowd as best he can, shoving both the wounded and whole aside one and the same. However, he arrives near the front in time to only see the last warrior and the former captive disappear into the onyx depths of the water. There is no sign of the final Pallid Warrior or the Mongrel woman, only black water that laps undisturbed against the docks. However, the scene upon the docks is chaotic as several scores of wounded citizens wallow in misery upon the ground and the mob disbands as the first of the Hounds arrive. There is no sign of the Orcinus save the eight dead Pallid Warriors that lie in various states about the ground. Behind them, the fire catches upon the pyre and flames shoot into the sky... the dead being consumed yet again.
FIN
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