H131, Day 74, 2 AP (Open)

[Stix]

A green-skinned, armored aasimar in Hardhead colors stands on the central speaker's platform. "Good citizens of the City of Doors! You don't know how the Harmonium works for you!" he booms in an earnest baritone, crystal-blue eyes scanning the spectators in their benches.

It's a "conversational day" at the Trianym, Sigil's grand public debating hall -- a holiday of sorts for the establishment, free of schedules, where speakers take center stage one at a time to put forward whatever argument they please, and observers are free to chime in to ask questions or present counterpoints (as well as to drop coins in the speaker's basket, or hurl pebbles and garbage instead).

"We've been mistaken and maligned as authoritarian warmongers, but all we strive for is peace! We don't want to fight our opposers, but they give us no choice! By rejecting safety, happiness, and love, by preying on the helpless and serving themselves before others, they fill the multiverse with hate and resentment! They destroy the hope for unity, and disillusion the unfortunate into believing that harmony isn't possible!"

Discontented murmurs begin to well in the crowd among Athar and Indeps, Sinkers and Chaosmen, and others who routinely run afoul of Sigil's self-appointed lawmen on the floor of the Hall of Speakers or in the city streets.

"I tell you, my friends: it is not only possible, but becoming reality! On the Prime Material, the Harmonium has succeeded! My faction's ancestral home is a peaceable place where all beings, no matter their birthplace or ancestry, cooperate in loving harmony! None go hungry! No one has anything to fear from crime! When one man falls, ten are ready to help him back to his feet!

"If you are a decent and law-abiding citizen, if you prize the health and safety of all, you too are sympathetic to the ideals of the Harmonium! Join with us! Help us bring peace to the multiverse once and for all!"

The Hardhead surveys the crowd, watching for any sign of either argument or agreement from observers.

[john]

John's vulture-helm just glowers at the hardhead, and he comments to the Aasimar.

"Your words are pretty. But where -is- this place you say that is such a paradise."

He then sneers, and comments, "It sounds to me like you're speaking of a world where people are nothing but interchangeable parts."

"I wouldn't know, though. I'm from Sigil. All I see is a dark, grim, hungry world where the devils and angels laugh as we suffer. Some here may know me. I am the Taker of Blood, and... well, I stand by myself with my own strength. "

He continues, "If a man falls, he fell because he's weak. He should quit mewling, pick himself back up again, and gird himself for the long, miserable struggle of life."

He pauses, for a moment, "Laws have their place, Hardhead. They help a place function, provide a framework for equivalent exchanges, sometimes even give us honor. But there is nothing -inherently- wrong with a body serving himself before he serves others. And besides... there is no hope of unity. Anyone who's spent a day out in the Hive knows better. And I lived most of my life there."

"This multiverse lives on hate and resentment. The hate of a man with no legs for a man riding by on a horse. The petty jealousy of a grocer for the more successful grocer across the way. That's what it means to be human, that's what it means to be alive. Honor doesn't come from denying these impulses. Maybe good does, but that's a damn abstract and ephemeral quality. I've lived... well, a damn long time without ever seeing anything good in this world. Honor is the best you can hope for, Hardhead. By keeping your promises and paying your debts as you incur them. Anything more is just a delusion."

[exile]

The Trianym was widely regarded as Sigil’s finest street theater, though the players themselves were often quick to disagree. It was an arena of wits where the gladiators armed themselves not with sword and spear, but with quotes and rhetoric. And if the Trianym was a theater, then “Conversational day” was its seldom aired piece de resistance. Hadrian made a point of never missing the occasion when duties permitted and quite often when they did not. True, many of the remainder of the year’s debates made for excellent spectacle, but none of them were as free and unrestrained as this one.

And this year’s event was already looking promising.

Finding the occasion to match words against a Hardhead far too tempting to pass upon, Hadrian struck out for the familiar form of John. Besides, the Asuras in him called out to see the insipid offspring of a lawful celestial put in his place.

“Good solider of the Harmonium, protector of the peace, please forgive my friend’s ignorance.” The Bleaker announced in jovial and vaguely chastising tones for all to hear. As he drew abreast of the shorter Taker, he laid an affable hand on the man’s shoulder.

“My friend is a worthy man, indeed there are few I would rather have at my side when asked to pay the music. But worthy though he may be, his world is a small one composed of ledgers and balances. He doesn’t know charity or nobility, as you do, good soldier, and for that we must pity him.”

Hadrian’s voice rose easily above the crowd, silencing objections and commanding attention. The foolish looked on with uncomprehending eyes, questioning how a Bleaker could come to the aid of the Harmonium. The canny could smell a trap, and waited with smug anticipation.

“But I believe in your peace with out punishment, cutter. I too preach kindness and love. Help me to show my friend the benevolence of your Law, good soldier. Tell us, how many Harmonium patrols are even now bringing security to his home in the Hive?”

There were none of course. A Harmonium patrol was as likely to be found in the Hive as a Vrock was to be found on the seventh layer of Mount Celestia. But to look upon Hadrian’s wide eyes and apparent admiration, one suspected he anticipated an answer in the hundreds to be forthcoming.

(I come not to praise Caeser, but to bury him... I'm liking this one already )

[Stix]

(I figured a Hardhead would be a good way to start this thread off and raise some dander, or at least spark an interesting argument; I'm glad people jumped right in on it. If anyone else would like a turn at the speaker's podium, start up a new thread in a different hour.)

The aasimar shakes his head in dismay as John speaks, looking at the Taker with pity in his eyes, and is about to rebut when Hadrian chimes in. He regards the falsely pandering Bleaker with suspicion, and doesn't miss a beat with his reply, addressing not only Hadrian, but the crowd as a whole, newly impassioned with the urgency of his cause.

"The Hive Ward is the most atrocious place in the Cage due to the lack of our presence! When we opened a garrison there -- in the Mortuary district, near Ragpicker's Square -- Xaositects burned it to the ground in a matter of weeks!"

Two whooping Chaosmen leap to their feet and hurl handfuls of pebbles at the speaker. The Hardhead raises a clearsteel shield -- afforded by the establishment for just such occasions -- to protect his face, and lets the rest glance harmlessly off of his armor, eyeing the rival factioneers balefully. He lowers the buckler again, the better to be heard.

"Our opposition in the Hive Ward is too fanatical and wicked for us to get a toehold with our current numbers! In order to police it, we'd have to pull every last man! There'd be not a single patrol left to mind the rest of the Cage, which would fall into lawlessness in our absence. We're short on manpower because too many berks like these," he accuses, indicating the proud Xaositects, "oppose harmony, love and peace! Children starve to death in the Hive Ward streets because of their cruelty!"

[john]

"Or perhaps they just oppose being bossed around." John retorts, snarling. "Children starve to death in the hive because they run out of food. Assigning a greater malignancy to any one cause is infantile. It's small, banal evil that lets people die there. Mother abandoning daughters, fathers selling their sons into slavery."


"Charity and nobility are lies to hide corruption and depravity. A man's honor is only his word and his sword arm. People don't do things because it's right, they do them because it makes them feel good. I was a beggar in the hives, I learned to play on that to get a coin. Now I earn them. I'd say that makes me, and anyone making their own way, better people than those who simply slump by the wayside, mewling for help."

"I don't think they oppose love, and peace. As for harmony, I don't know. Ask a Xaositect to sing if you think they're a bloody bard. I'd imagine they just want to be -left alone-. This multiverse is in many ways a small space, and you blasted hardheads make it smaller, poking your noses into everything and imposing your beliefs not with swordarm and convincing logical arguments, but through blasted handouts. Ten men to take up the slack where one has fallen. Pah! I'd rather stand beside the man who kept standing in the first place."

[Stix]

"We protect the public," the Hardhead spits back at John, beginning to get riled. "And those unfortunates who need protection. For the right jink, you and all your lot of Coldblood spivs would slit those starving children's throats! You might even do it for free, just to silence their begging! Certainly, if they were behind on their taxes!"

"We need some bigger rocks," murmurs a Xaositect.

The impassioned lawman puts his focus back on the spectators. "If everyone cooperated under the banner of the Harmonium, those evils would cease to exist! Chaos, and an unwillingness to work together weaken the very fabric of the multiverse, and give it over to the fiends one day at a time!" He singles out John again, raising his voice and taking an accusatory tone. "You want to call the multiverse a small place? It will be, if stupidity and selfishness like yours turn every last plane into a living hell!"

The Harmonium, Guvners, and Mercykillers in the crowd add some more supportive noise to the general hubbub. "And we won't stand for that!" the vehement speaker booms to the crowd, his voice undertoned with tolling church bells. "Real strength is in the conviction to take action against the wicked and lawless, to defend your neighbor as he defends you, and to help the helpless! Strength is in unity and brotherhood! In uncompromising right action and discipline! In the eradication of evil, and the glorification of all that's selfless and true!"

The rallying Harmonium officers in the crowd stomp their feet, clap their hands, call out their support, and pound the ground with the butt ends of mancatchers. The aasimar fixes a hard gaze on John, as if defying him to retort.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

"Peace, brother. I beg of you. The last thing we want is to see a philosophical debate fall into disarray." Interrupts a soft, haunting voice from somewhere at the back, furthest from the podium, once the noise dies down.

"You'll not find your peace and unity by thrusting it upon those who do not want it. And they do not want it because this is the only way they've lived, and the way you carry it out, through violence and force of arms, inhibits a peaceful way of life. Bloodshed is not the way to peace or harmony; things I would dearly wish to see, if not in my lifetime, then certainly in my son's." The speaker, a Dustman in name only, although she still wore their colours, and carried their mantle of death, rises from her bench for all to see her. A humble, corsetted, robed and veiled tiefling, a disparate loner amongst those who fear or despise her kind.

"Children starve to death because no one cares about them. Mothers die giving life to their children, who in turn suffer as orphans or die themselves, because of lack of knowledge, and skilled healers capable of assisting them. The Hive has been left to rot in its own designs, not merely because of Xaositect violence..." The veiled speaker pauses, waiting for the excited whooping to die down. "But because of indifference."

The tiefling removes her dusky veil with a gloved hand. The beautiful face beneath is pale, if a shade too gaunt, marked by the faded pink scar sweeping across her high cheek, to disappear beneath the white folds of her wimple.

She holds herself with grim determination and poise, perhaps even with a regal tilt to her pointed chin; all qualities the hardened woman had adopted since learning the shocking truth of her ancestry. She was a daughter of Graz'zt, it seemed; a sure fire sign that there was no peace and harmony this Harmonium soldier so avidly spoke of.

"Consider this, good Sir, if you would permit me to speak, and please, forgive me for any disrespect, as none is intended." She begins, her voice soft like the soughing of leaves on a cold autumn day. "Perhaps you are right, and it would be too costly to restore order to the Hive. Perhaps the Taker is right in that no-one, especially those forced to fend for themselves, like being bossed around. That is the life they know, and sadly, many stubbornly cling to it, fighting day by day to scratch up what existence they can.

But I will challenge you on one thing, cutter, as a surgeon and a mother. Children do not suffer because of their cruelty." The Dustman points at the Chaosmen as she speaks.

"Children, women, men, all impoverished people, suffer, because of men like Ridnir Tetch. Cruel, sadistic, tormented men who are allowed to exist, and ply their trade upon the innocent, because they are protected by your Laws. Otherwise they would've been flushed out by now, and dealt with accordingly. We need people like him replaced, and fundings directed into the building of more infirmaries and orphanages in the Hive, to help take the slack off the Gatehouse.

But... Why should anyone care about these people when they've been cast aside into a place where they will be forgotten? Why should anyone care when they have no money to pay, in an existence where life is measured not by honour or integrity, but by material wealth - things that another can use for their own personal benefit?" Her voice isn't so much accusing as it is sad and rueful. There are no barbs in her voice, for they are simple statements of the Truth she has witnessed.

"Would all this be as it is, if the love and harmony you seek could ever be found this side of the Veil?"


[And I'm glad you started this thread, because I welcome the opportunity for a philosophical debate. I haven't had one of these for a while.

Also, I edited my post a little. Just changed the wording slightly in the 1st, 2nd and 5th paragraphs because I wasn't entirely satisfied with how I put it together. ]

[exile]

"Such an impassioned plea, good soldier. My heart breaks to hear how the Hive has forsaken you. It is a sad time indeed when so many of the poor and misbegotten sods in this great city of ours seek to strike the shepherd's hand. Were the Harmonium larger, I've no doubt that your peace would by stamped into the Hive by now. But alas your duties stretch you too thin."

"But I know that a good, and righteous man such as yourself could never turn your back on a wayward brother. Even a soldier must rest, isn't that right my friend? And when he is rested, he is at his most generous! So, good soldier, enlighten this rabble; let no man say that the Harmonium does not help the helpless! Gladden our hearts with tales of the 'ten men for every one' who race into the soup kitchens and almshouses during their hard won hours of respite to help the fallen. In fact, haven't I seen your very person at Allesha's a week gone? "

[Stix]

(Philosophy is the stuff of the outer planes. I'd love to see some PC-on-PC debating, if anyone's up for it.)

At first, the Hardheads keep up their noise after the fiery speech to prevent further assault on their faction philosophy and way of life. Allowing it for a few seconds to catch his breath and compose his thoughts, the speaker finally holds out a hand, smiling to his fellow officers as he motions for them to calm down.

"Thank you, brothers and sisters, but I'm here for an honest debate; let the people speak. It's the only way my being here can make a difference."

He patiently hears out the Dustman, despite having already judged her to be wrong (as the Harmonium does best!).

"You take me far too literally, and perhaps that's my fault; I'm a soldier, not an orator. Of course the Chaosmen aren't to blame for all the wickedness of the Hive, but the trend of Xaositect violence is growing. The burden of guilt falls not only on random acts of violence against fellow men, but also on those who prey on the weak, exploit the desperate, and band together in gangs to fight foolishly for a stretch of broken ground or a burnt-out building.

"Now, I don't know any Ridnir Tetch, but he sounds exactly like what I'm on about, and I agree with you there. The laws aren't ours to make in Sigil, and that's another part of the problem. The statutes we enforce are written in the Hall of Speakers, where squabbling and the proposal of useless legislation prevent anything from getting done!

"None of you can truly know what a peaceful way of life is, until you've seen the product of Harmonium influence! Where we have succeeded and made our vision reality, we have made peace from strife! Ortho is a world without crime and avarice, where all races and all peoples live harmoniously. What I'm talking about is possible, you Dustmen are just too deluded in self-pity to see it."

The speaker also hears out the Bleaker, and, though visibly annoyed by his facade, replies to his implied accusation.

"Allesha is an Indep, and she throws out any berk in faction colors! She's let her foolish pride and faith in 'individualism' interfere with charity, and stop good folk from helping the disenfranchised! That is a sin! It's the same evil of pride that stops anything truly good from being accomplished in the Hive Ward! These 'free thinkers' want all the credit for their good deeds, and none of the blame for the damage they do, and for the people they make to suffer!"

[john]

John snarls, almost stepping forward combatively.

"Your peace is only the peace of death. The end result of your logic is simply stagnation and eventual death. The only man who will not disobey, not strive, not change is a dead man. You would make us all dead in your attempt to see us equal and cared for."

"Nothing can come from discipline, unity, and brotherhood without something to oppose that. Consider for a moment heroes. They are violent men, by nature. They take up arms against evil!
Because it exists. If you eradicate evil and wrong, you also eradicate the fermentation, change and survival of existence itself. We thrive on conflict. We would grow weak and foolish if all were under one mind, one rule, as you desire.

But we would be similarly useless if we went so far as the Xaositects. All passion and motion, with no purpose. There is no honor found there either.

We define ourselves by conflict. So no, I welcome the darkness, the cruelty, the hate. Because it's only when they exist that we can define honor, and cut for ourselves just a little bit of what you damn fools would call yourselves justice."

[john]

John pauses, then smiles for a moment, "You are a soldier, yes? Then we can prove the worth of our philosophies at blade's length, the only true test of a man's conviction and ideals. Not here, not now, of course. But any time you'd care to cross swords with me... Hardhead, I'll be there for a spirited debate in the realm we both know best."

[exile]

“Ah, cutter, this is something we do not see eye to eye on. Allesha may be an indep, but all are welcome under her roof if they check their colors at the door. Men of all factions may enter, but proselytize they may not. If foolish pride can be ascribed to anyone, it is to the basher who thinks of himself too highly to make that small gesture and thereby enter her kip.”

Hadrian took a step in towards the podium. It was clear that even among the Harmonium, the occasional thinker could be found. So much for clever ploys and verbal pitfalls; this orator had proven himself adept at stepping aside. He hadn’t answered a single question directly, much to his credit. With a fiery glint in his eye, the Bleaker pushed on.

“But something else is troubling me, cutter. To be sure that was a fine speech you gave, but what do you actually practice from what you preach? You have not attested to a single act of noblesse wrought by the hand of the Harmonium here in the Cage. All of this talk of the wonder that is Ortho! And yet when it comes to the suffering on your very door step, you are strangely silent, cutter; except to cast the blame about on others heads. I tell you, my friend, it is hard to fathom.”

“Your numbers must be thin indeed; you’ve only enough hours in the day to preach your empty dogma and corral up the poor and weak dissenters you claim to be protecting from themselves.”

[Uathach Blackmantle]

The Dustman's gaze swings toward the Madman and the Taker, now steadily advancing upon the podium. One seemed intent to gut the Hardhead then and there, and the other, far more adept at using words for swords, though both presented logical and truthful arguments.

The sight odf the speakers takes her off-guard for a moment. Hadrian? John? Since when did the runty, sour-faced vulture helmed man spout so many pretty words? But he sure struck a resonant chord in her heart. As for the eloquent Bleaker; what kind of stunt was he trying to pull here, goading a Hardhead, because she'd never seen this side of him before.

Was he being sarcastic, or genuine? It was difficult to tell which, and the tiefling had to admit, even now, that the friend who called her "sister" still remained an enigma to her.

"I must agree with them, though you may argue to the contrary, which is only natural, as determined by the very fabric of existence. Self-pity? I have lived in the shadow of Death - ironic, I know - for long enough to know now that none of the Dead feel self-pity. If anything, they are the most serene creatures that exist here, stoicly toiling by day, doing what needs to be done, and assured by a firm faith in what lies waiting for them on the other side. I do not know what that is yet. I haven't met my Maker, nor do I wish to. My work here isn't yet finished, and here is where I will linger until my task is complete."

The Dustman walks as she speaks, drifting silently as a shade between the benches, until her chosen path brings her to stand alongside Hadrian, and not too far from John. The three of them - all radically different yet united in common belief - in her mind, she hopes woul solidify the point she will make that there is unity in conflict and disparity, individuality or conformity, because all fit together in the grander scheme of things.

"Digressing for a moment, I have another thought for you all to consider, good Ladies and Sirs, along the same lines as the Fated here as laid at your feet." The tiefling spreads her pale hands wide, encompassing the Harmonium soldier at the podium, and the animated listeners as a whole. Grandly, she sweeps her hand out in a dramatic flourish at the Aasimar speaker, and her voice rises like a keening wind, taking on a more animated edge.

If the Dustman known as Uathach Blackmantle could ever be described as beautiful, it would be here, now, in her element, surrounded by an avid audience, and throwing out her words not only as an attack, but as a defence of all that she believed in, and observed with her own eyes.

"You seek to unite all under one banner? I must ask why, good soldier of a Just cause, when it is our individuality and disparity that draws us together as One. Are we not united in a delicate cosmic balance? Truth, in some places, conformity is possible, from Baator, and Mechanus to the pearlescent heights of Mount Celestia! We see that it is possible. But, on the flipside, these visions - or nightmares - of perfect conformity and rigid discipline are offset by Arborea, Ysgard, the chaotic beauty of Limbo, and the collosal festering chasm we call the Abyss.

This is the way of the Multiverse, of our Creator, good soldier, and it all comes together in the middle, as the Spire, and the Cage, the epitamy of diversity, sameness and change. Is this not unity, because we all fit together as pieces of the same puzzle, and originate from the same place?" She pauses to collect her thoughts, trembling suddenly as the intensity of emotion threatens to overwhealm her. Her purple eyes are wide and glistening, rivetted on the face of the Hardhead she knows means well, but is perhaps a shade misguided by his singleminded convictions.

"We, each of us, though we look, think, speak, believe and breathe differently, are fundamentally the same underneath. Because we exist here, trapped somewhere between Life and Death, we originated from the same source, we will end the same way, only to rise again in another form; so completing the cosmic wheel.

Is this fundamental commonality not unity?" Closing her eyes, the Dustman opens up her heart to the tide of creative light.

"Ah! But from this sweet, sighing sorrow,
Thee can hearken to Hope for the morrow;
As even visiting Death may borrow
Light with which to guide this barge home..." She sweeps her hands out as she recites the words, gesturing at herself, the speaker, the audience, and the great torus as a whole, where needed.


[*heaves a relieved sigh* what a tirade! ]

[Stix]

(Actually, Allesha holds every faction except the Free League in fanatical contempt, and doesn't allow well-known factioneers or anyone sporting a symbol to volunteer. She's also notorious for turning stag on the Fated to join the Indeps, if that little point of order interests anyone.

A patrol standing near the scribes' platform bristles when the Taker mentions the possibility of crossing blades. "You haven't even been listening. I want peace, not more conflict! You fight for joy and money, but I'll spare my chiv for times of necessity."

"I keep talking about Ortho because these other berks keep telling me the Harmonium philosophy will never work," the aasimar explains to Hadrian. "Obviously, it does! Still, you all want to go on believing falsely."

With a forewarning smirk, he continues. "As for you, if you don't value the service we do for the citizens of the Cage in protecting them from thieves, murderers, rapists, and other criminals, move to Plague-Mort. I'm sure their so-called 'lawmen' would unquestioningly respect your right to live. Perhaps Ribcage might suit you better! Or Curst, where the gate guard will dash citizens into the razorvine on a slow day. Maybe you'd like to be pressed into Blood War service on Oinos! I don't know! You're an individual, you can make your own decisions!" The comment draws appreciative laughter from the speaker's sympathizers in the crowd. Many others excitedly look from one aasimar to the other, thoroughly enjoying the sport unfolding right before them.

"And the Dustmen?" he continues, addressing the crowd. "I don't know whether to call their beliefs screed or wash! 'Life is so painful! I must be dead!'" he mocks, drawing a good laugh from Sensates, Signers, and other political and philosophical foes of the Dead.

"Bar that! Even the sodding Taker can tell you," he says, addressing Wraith and pointing one gauntleted finger at John, "when the odds are against you and life is at its hardest, rolling over and dying is no answer! You need to strive for something better! You're alive! Wake up and live!

"What you mistakenly call unity is a squabbling nest of misguided berks who can't see the truth! You don't stand together, you huddle in the darkness, all the while fearing the light."

Wraith can't help but notice a few Godsmen and Dustmen alike in the crowd giving her befuddled looks.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Wraith awakens from communion with her muse, and doesn't even batter an eyelid in the face of such singleminded righteous passion. She ignores the stares levelled her way - aye, she was fast making it no secret that she was torn between two warring philosophies, as she struggled for truth and meaning in her own life - and stands her ground. Drawing herself up taller, straighter, she meets the Aasimar's eyes, whose fire would scald the face from a Balor general.

"I fear nothing. I have learned, and seen some horrible things in my time, good soldier, and I have also seen the beauty of existence. I have helped others unquestioningly, whether they asked for my aid or not, because it is my responsibility and my duty to do thus. But these tales are not for your ears, as you have been blinded by your narrow determination and passion. I would pity you, Sir, if I had time for this. But I am not one to roll over in the mud, and wallow, when there is so much good I can do. This I have learned the hard way." Steadying herself with a deep breath, Wraith's gaze focuses solely upon the Aasimar, burning his countenance into her mind so that she would not forget him.

He was one to avoid when it came to flushing out the Cult of Graz'zt, because no doubt if he learned of her heritage, he would embark upon a witchhunt to drag her, and all those she loved, to the ground.

"Now when you are done with your impassioned speach, good Sir, I wish to take the podium. It's time someone adressed the issue of this barbarian, Ridnir Tetch, and put an end to his atrocities. Because it will not happen on it's own."

[Stix]

The Hardhead considers Wraith as she speaks, then replies specifically to her.

"I'm interested to hear your case. You might find a common cause with us, yet."

"Join the Harmonium! You'll always know where you stand!" In unison, every Hardhead in sight -- speaker included -- stands at attention and gives a gauntleted-fist-over-armored-heart salute, then brings his hand to the sidearm at his hip in a quick one-two motion.

The aasimar steps down from the podium, gesturing for the Dustman to take it up in his stead while the spectators begin to clamor with differences of opinion and a mix of support and condemnation for his words. A handful of passersby and observers -- a human youth, two dwarves, a tiefling, and an earth genasi -- approach him, engaging him in apparently pleasant conversation.

[john]

John shrugs his shoulders as the Hardhead brushes off his challenge, and for the moment ignores Wraith's comments about Tetch. Mostly because he doesn't care, unless he's not paying his taxes or ill-using children. Or there's money to be made from dealing with him. But he doubts all 3 of these things, and begins to walk away, showing no sign of being defeated in the war of words, but rather, bored with it. He's got more practical things to do than bandy words with a man he now considers to be a soldier in name only. "Feh." He finally says, and begins to think about likely opponents for an advancement duel. Maybe another taker is around worth knocking down.

[exile]

The first words of a retort dance upon Hadrian’s lips as Wraith calls for the man’s departure, so ending the debate. He had had much to say on the subject of the Harmonium’s ‘services’, and the inanity of the soldier’s suggestions for relocation. Stopping short with a frown however, he mutters to himself instead.

“I would say that were it not for the color of the Hardhead’s armor, I could not tell him from a snake in the grass, but such would be an unjust portrayal of serpents. Even vermin must account for their actions on occasion.”

Still the dispute had been closed, and Hadrian harbored no ill feelings towards the soldier. Leaning idly against his spear, the Bleaker awaits the next performance of the day.

“The floor would appear to be yours, sister.”

[Uathach Blackmantle]

"Yes, it does appear to be that way, doesn't it, brother?" Wraith observes absently, though she seems more interested in watching the un-named Hardhead walking off into the crowd. She couldn't help but notice, that of the youths surrounding the man, engaging him in pleasant chit-chat, one of them was a tiefling. For show, to lend strength to his words, perhaps? Wraith shakes her head, already deciding that this man had more leadership skills than he had brains.

A pity, that.

"I'll confess that he abandoned his post rather quickly, and did almost nothing to refute my words, other than spout the same dogmatic screed. The man is a narrow-minded and brainless wonder, if you ask me. Or he lacks the wisdom and compassion to use his intelligence correctly. If there is one thing I despise in life, Hadrian, it is ignorance. A man can do so much evil simply because he doesn't know any better, and is too proud, stupid or nearsighted to change that. Likewise indifference is the cause for much of the Cage's ills." She compresses her lips thoughtfully, sparing a nod for John as the Taker walks off.

"He is an angry man, Hadrian." She muses at length, swinging her gaze back to the Harmonium officer again. "An angry and proud man. I can see it in his eyes and in his words, unless I am mistaken. Few men are so driven to singlemindedness, unless they have good reason to be that way." She offers a nonchalant shrug, for she wasn't entirely certain herself, but she was sure of one thing: pride was a terrible weakness that had been the downfall of many, noble or otherwise.

"I am not one to judge, Hadrian. I have to keep an open mind. As a physician what other choice do I have? It is not my place to judge a man's worth before offering aid to him, simply because of what he looks like, or how he might think and believe. That he needs my aid is worth enough." The Dustman confesses with a pensive frown. Though her words are directed at the Madman she called "brother" and friend, it seems that she more seeks her own counsel, as though she needs to explain her own thoughts and beliefs to herself.

"Some might argue this makes me a better person, but no. I am no better than the next man. Tolerant, yes, and naive, most likely, but I am not his better, not am I inferior. I simply am, though men like him, sadly, would have us believe otherwise." She shakes her head with a dissatisfied sigh. "Sadly the ideals of equality and fairness have no place here, on this side of the Veil. I think such qualities can only exist in a utopia not of our own design, in a world unblemished by jealousy, avarice, lust, wrath, ignorance and stubborn pride." She mumbles and stares off into the distance.

"You will remain to hear my own contribution will you not, brother?" She asks of Hadrian. Focus returns to her silvered purple eyes, and she regards him with a hopeful expression.

Her gaze returns to the Harmonium officer and his small entourage. Excusing herself, Wraith wends through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares, until she stands before the impressive green-skinned man. "Forgive me for interrupting, good Sir, but before I take to the podium, I would have your name. So I would know the man to speak to, should I ever need the Law on my side." Wraith bows respectfully, and extends a gloved hand toward the Hardhead.


[Should I begin a new thread for Wraith, Stix?]

[Stix]

The Hardhead amicably shakes hands and makes brief introductions with the newest round of potential faction recruits, surprisingly friendly and approachable in comparison to the average Harmonium officer deigning to make conversation with civilians.

As Wraith begins to converse with John and Hadrian, the imposing aasimar wades his way through the crowd of spectators to approach the three of them. When the ex-Dustman turns to look for him, he's practically on top of her -- though if he's heard anything she said, he makes no indication of it.

"Beris Onea, Measure Two of the Harmonium -- and the law will always be on your side, provided you are on its." A vague look of displeasure crosses his face as Wraith's stench registers in his nostrils, even as he takes her hand and puts on a polite smile.

"I suggest you start rattling your bone-box up there instead of down here," he says, gesturing to the podium. "Doubtless, some berk with something useless to say is going to start demanding the floor if the rest of my time isn't put to good use."

Rather than return to the ranks of his patrol, Beris interposes himself between John and Hadrian as if daring them to speak some disrespect face-to-face instead of across a sea of them. He adjusts the weight of the two-handed mace slung across his back before folding his plate-clad arms in front of him, settling in to watch the show.


(The podium was handed over directly to Wraith, so just keep things going in this thread.)