"The Wanderer"
2nd post
CAIRN_ONE
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
TAGS
Lucien Dooku Tish Cowen Aoki-Barran Mira
Simon Meinrad
HEARTS AND MINDS: A WOAD'S KINDNESSES - PART 2
Western Residential District, City Outskirts,
Ambaril, Chandaar (Spring of 877 ABY)
Ambaril's outskirts, wide and vast though they were, had not been so fortunate to escape the social, moral and infrastructural degradation of the Western Residential District; and in seeing that an increasing amounts of these wicked settings were founded within the residencies (and in those of what may have belonged to families before) of otherwise-civilised streets in the area, Lord-Colonel Barran would become increasingly furious, and everyone around him knew it. The louts and degenerates who were running Chandaar's civilian regions into the ground, as dumb as they were in the Esoteric-Knight's estimation at the time, were smart enough to see that there was more beneath the venom at the surface; more than the snapping responses, more than the volume of Lord Michael's voice as it roared out as if from the depths of his gut, more than the pin-point pupils and icy-blue pupils that stared his loathing into the depths of their souls.
This was a hatred they knew, a hatred that drew from the very traits that defined them, a hatred for weakness in all it's many forms, that which the Wanderer inherited from the father who chased the storm. None were quite educated or in-the-know enough to realise who they were dealing with, but they still knew that this was no longer just a firebrand's apathetic brutality, understanding with ease that this was the establishment of a new food-chain, a pecking order that placed every last one of them at the precipice of the Empire's lowest common denominator. If the Woad so willed it, he could've marked each and every last one of these criminals for the firing-squad at the drop of a hat, but there was the order to win the masses over, and the perpetual urge to veer away from becoming a man like his father - providing a small, though fleeting chance that local incarcerations still awaited the mob swelling around Lord Michael at the time.
The mob, battered though their collective self-esteem was, (with the same going for their sense of autonomous freedom) was swelling with every gambling-racket, drug-hovel, gang-den and backstreet-cantina Lord Michael laid eyes on, though Barran knew well enough that many more were sneaking off to treat their broken bones, bruises and cuts they incurred in the affray. For these instances, however, Barran would care little, for these alone would each be a shining example of a just, deservedly-painful mercy, for it was a mercy alone that let them slither off to lick their wounds, a mercy that would resound in the hearts of the terrorised, silent majority they forced into a life they deserved to transcend in stark contrast. And as far as the unaffiliated civilians masses were concerned, such tales of the battered, bruised remnants of the brutish malcontents from before, as frightening as they would seem to the ears of the meek, many among them would have wry, sneering smiles of catharsis within hours of the Woad's first forays on Chandaar.
'You all hoped the Empire would forget Chandaar, so now I watch as you all BREAK EACH OTHER'S FACES FOR THAT SLIGHT!!!!'
Beyond the point of disengagement with region, as much as the Wanderer wished to involve himself more, the fates of the battered degenerates (no matter how light or severe their crimes were) would be left almost entirely at the hands of the masses who remained. Lord Michael had already assumed that some semblance of law-keeping presences would become prevalent from the moment he departed, but until then the Druid knew the wicked ones would need to be softened up as much as possible; for if the silent majority were to have any hope of exerting lasting power over these brutes, then they would need every last one of the city's many criminal elements as weak as Barran could manage with the time he had, a sad but necessary truth that kept the Woad from easing up on the scum around him - knowing it would help the catharsis take hold in the meek for the long run.
'An' what the feth are you looking at? Something in there you don't want me seeing? Huh?!?! IF YOU WON'T TELL ME, I'LL DRAG YOU IN THERE WITH ME SO WE CAN FIND OUT TOGETHER!!!!'
CAIRN_ONE
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
TAGS
Lucien Dooku Tish Cowen Aoki-Barran Mira
Simon Meinrad
HEARTS AND MINDS: A WOAD'S KINDNESSES - PART 2
Ambaril, Chandaar (Spring of 877 ABY)
'THATS MORE LIKE IT!!! YA SAD RABBLE O' KARKWITS, THE LOT O' YE!!!!'
The Druid, though he was having fun with his Hearts-and-Minds endeavours, was not impressed in the slightest.
Ambaril's outskirts, wide and vast though they were, had not been so fortunate to escape the social, moral and infrastructural degradation of the Western Residential District; and in seeing that an increasing amounts of these wicked settings were founded within the residencies (and in those of what may have belonged to families before) of otherwise-civilised streets in the area, Lord-Colonel Barran would become increasingly furious, and everyone around him knew it. The louts and degenerates who were running Chandaar's civilian regions into the ground, as dumb as they were in the Esoteric-Knight's estimation at the time, were smart enough to see that there was more beneath the venom at the surface; more than the snapping responses, more than the volume of Lord Michael's voice as it roared out as if from the depths of his gut, more than the pin-point pupils and icy-blue pupils that stared his loathing into the depths of their souls.
This was a hatred they knew, a hatred that drew from the very traits that defined them, a hatred for weakness in all it's many forms, that which the Wanderer inherited from the father who chased the storm. None were quite educated or in-the-know enough to realise who they were dealing with, but they still knew that this was no longer just a firebrand's apathetic brutality, understanding with ease that this was the establishment of a new food-chain, a pecking order that placed every last one of them at the precipice of the Empire's lowest common denominator. If the Woad so willed it, he could've marked each and every last one of these criminals for the firing-squad at the drop of a hat, but there was the order to win the masses over, and the perpetual urge to veer away from becoming a man like his father - providing a small, though fleeting chance that local incarcerations still awaited the mob swelling around Lord Michael at the time.
'AN' ITS ONLY GOING TO GET WILDER FROM HERE, SCUM!!!!' The mob, battered though their collective self-esteem was, (with the same going for their sense of autonomous freedom) was swelling with every gambling-racket, drug-hovel, gang-den and backstreet-cantina Lord Michael laid eyes on, though Barran knew well enough that many more were sneaking off to treat their broken bones, bruises and cuts they incurred in the affray. For these instances, however, Barran would care little, for these alone would each be a shining example of a just, deservedly-painful mercy, for it was a mercy alone that let them slither off to lick their wounds, a mercy that would resound in the hearts of the terrorised, silent majority they forced into a life they deserved to transcend in stark contrast. And as far as the unaffiliated civilians masses were concerned, such tales of the battered, bruised remnants of the brutish malcontents from before, as frightening as they would seem to the ears of the meek, many among them would have wry, sneering smiles of catharsis within hours of the Woad's first forays on Chandaar.
'You all hoped the Empire would forget Chandaar, so now I watch as you all BREAK EACH OTHER'S FACES FOR THAT SLIGHT!!!!'
Beyond the point of disengagement with region, as much as the Wanderer wished to involve himself more, the fates of the battered degenerates (no matter how light or severe their crimes were) would be left almost entirely at the hands of the masses who remained. Lord Michael had already assumed that some semblance of law-keeping presences would become prevalent from the moment he departed, but until then the Druid knew the wicked ones would need to be softened up as much as possible; for if the silent majority were to have any hope of exerting lasting power over these brutes, then they would need every last one of the city's many criminal elements as weak as Barran could manage with the time he had, a sad but necessary truth that kept the Woad from easing up on the scum around him - knowing it would help the catharsis take hold in the meek for the long run.
'An' what the feth are you looking at? Something in there you don't want me seeing? Huh?!?! IF YOU WON'T TELL ME, I'LL DRAG YOU IN THERE WITH ME SO WE CAN FIND OUT TOGETHER!!!!'
Last edited: