Book One, Chapter Five, Post Ten

Soon enough, everyone is gathered in Lord Fennix’s room.  The man is pale and soaked in sweat. His breathing is shallow and ragged.  Clearly, he is fighting the poison that rages in his system with all of his strength.

"Old Man F... er, that is, High Lord Fennix is putting up quite a good show of it,” Terrence states. “I'd say the bastards who dragged him to this need to be brought to account. Specifically, I mean we should kill them. I wonder what they hoped to accomplish."

As he approaches the bedridden lord Málean absentmindedly mutters, "Considering they retreated after injecting the High Lord with the lethal concoction currently in his system I'd say killing him is a plausible hypothesis. As to their motive, assuming the what we heard about the marks connecting them to the Wilds and the talk I've heard about an expedition is true, I would also surmise that they would prefer said expedition to never launch."

Roland looks down at the older man, still soaked in sweat and breathing raggedly.  His voice is harder than it had been previously. "I don't know what it is they wanted and, beyond information aiding in tracking them, I don't really care.  I will see them burn."

Málean intently focuses on the slow administration of the antidote. Without changing is tone he continues, "Proposition: summary execution of the assailants is sub-optimal. One, the scheme to obstruct the High Lord might have more aspects than witnessed today. Two, the assailants we observed might not represent the whole network involved in this larger scheme. Three, summary execution would eliminate any link we have to this scheme, nullifying our ability to uncover the full scale of said scheme. Four, and, therefore, executing the assailants will be detrimental to our ability to protect the High Lord from further aggression.

"As an aside I must also interject that fire has significant drawbacks as a method of execution."

"You are right of course," Roland says. "And, truth be told, taking them prisoner and turning the over to the authorities is probably right thing to do.  And, for the most part, I have no objections--even if they are merely sentenced to life imprisonment.  Except for the pale elf. She dies. Maybe not immediately or summarily. Maybe not until after capture and interrogation. But before this is all over, she dies." Roland then turns to Málean and smiles a bit. "As for fire as execution, you are probably right as well.  Call it poetic license.  You can ask our puppeteer friend about it." It's the closest thing to a joke Roland has told all night.

Málean's gaze breaks away from the lord's face, and his eyes flicker for a moment before settling on Roland. "Oh, uh, fair enough."

"For my part,” Terrence inserts, “I didn't know we were issuing licenses for poetry now, but I'm all in favor of it. Of all the fine arts it's probably the most likely to cause injury in unskilled hands. That and puppetry, perhaps. As for fire, it truly is like a poem--though one from the tongues of angels, in that it both elucidates and consumes." Terrence grins, his eyes flashing momentarily with a different hue. "I would very much enjoy it if our friend Roland treated this pale elf general and her demon-blooded lieutenant to a recital."